The Right Side Of Wrong
by One Wish Magic
Summary: We all know that Darrel Curtis was always to "smart" to be a Greaser and the only reason he was not a Soc was because he would not turn his back on his brothers and the gang. Story about the gang and how they became friends and brothers.3RD CHP SPLIT UP!
1. Who Really Is Darrel Curtis?

**Disclaimer: I do not own the outsiders. They belong to S.E. Hinton I only hope to do justice to her wonderful characters.**

**This first Chapter is mainly about Darry, simply because he is the oldest in the story and thus I can write more about him.**

**I am a little nervous this is my first big story. So here it goes:**

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Darrel Curtis, it was not the most remarkable name in the world, in fact he lived with two of the worlds more exceptionally named people. Neither was it the most original name, that title once again went to his two younger brothers. No one would ever forget the first time they were introduced to Sodapop or Ponyboy. But yet Darrel Curtis was a name that _everybody_ knew and with good reason. In the battle for hierarchical status that is middle school, you couldn't get higher than Darrel Curtis. Straight A's effortlessly in every subject. Charming good looks that would make girls want to double back down the corridor just to get a second glance. The finest and naturally toned body in the grade. Son of two of the worlds best lawyers and the schools rising sports star.

Or so the stories went anyway, the truth however was vastly different. He had studied hard for those A's, although he did have a natural aptitude for understanding things fully the first time. He looked the spitting image of his father when he had been his age so he could hardly say that his looks were all his own, or original either, and it was not like he paid any attention to the love struck girls in his grade, all that excessive eye battering and giggling got on his nerves. He couldn't even say his name was original like his brothers either, he had the exact same name as his father. His muscle tone defiantly was not natural, he had been pumping weights for the past five months, under the close supervision of his father. His parents were not high class lawyers, his father built houses and his mother worked two jobs to bring extra money into the house. A waitress by day and behind a bar by night. Finally he had worked tirelessly to be as good as he was now at football.

Sometimes he resented how all the wild stories about him portrayed him as being the kind of person who never tried but just seemed to do everything right. He had worked damn hard over the past few years and built himself up to what he was now, but no one seemed to have noticed. But then, wasn't it all the wild stories that made Darrel seem such a mysterious person, and there were plenty of them flying around. The latest of which involved him and the head cheerleader, who he was _not_ going out with. That was in fact one of his best friends Christopher Taylor, who had recently started to 'digg' girls. But really even if he tried to explain the truth who would believe him, they would still go on believing their wild stories and thus Darrel had concluded was the best way to keep things. Anyway, it was always a laugh of a Monday morning to find out about the new rumors spreading round the school.

"Sodapop! Ponyboy! Hurry up or we're going to be late!" Darry called to them from the foot of the stairs, pulling on his red and white soccer team jacket. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his dark, baggy denim jeans and slumped against the wall, sighing exasperatedly. Why did his brothers insist on leaving everything to the last minute.

"Darrel," called his mothers voice, "Aren't you ready yet? Two-bit will be here any moment." Darry pushed himself up off the wall and walked up to the kitchen door, sticking his head around it he said;

"I am ready, it's Soda and Pony again. Can't you just take them to school instead?" His mother was washing and drying all of the cups, plates and bowls that had been used for breakfast earlier in the morning.

"No, I have to go to work and their school is on the way to yours and you are walking that way with Two-bit anyway," she said placing the three newly dried bowls back into the cupboard. Darry scowled making sure that his mother didn't see it.

"Two-bit's here," announced his fathers voice from the living room as the door slammed shut.

"Morning Mr and Mrs. C," called Two-bit merrily strolling into the kitchen.

"Morning Two-bit," came the simultaneous reply. Darry hid his grin. Two-bit made his way out into the hall towards Darry.

"Hey man," he said giving Darry a light slap on the back, to which Darry returned, "You ready?" asked Two-bit.

"_I_ am yeah, but Ponyboy and Soda aren't," sighed Darry leaning once again back onto the wall. Darry took in Two-bits clothes, his tight fitting washed out, Grey jeans, his scuffed shoes and his loose fitting light blue Mickey Mouse top. Darry swore the kid had a Mickey Mouse obsession or something, he seemed to have a Mickey Mouse top in every colour for every occasion. That was the good thing about Two-bit though, he wasn't afraid to do something just because of what people might think. Round their neighborhood at 10 you were supposed to have well outgrown such childishness as Mickey Mouse. Two-Bit however was not the type to stop doing something just because someone said so, or because it was expected, he openly flaunted this attitude at any chance.

Two-bit took a seat on the bottom step of the stairs, merrily tapping his feet on the floor in a rhythm.

"Ponyboy! Sodapop! Hurry up now or I am leaving without you," shouted Darry reaching the end of his patience, this was getting ridiculous now.

"Were coming," shouted Soda back sounding a little annoyed. Finally, thought Darry rolling his eyes.

There was a loud bang as what sounded like a wardrobe door was slammed shut upstairs. Followed by heavy footfalls as Soda made a point of stomping down the stairs, quickly followed by Ponyboy. Darry fought hard to keep a straight face but Two-bit burst out laughing. Soda did not look pleased, he folded his arms sullenly and glared at the two older boys. Darry looked away from his two younger brothers hiding his smile. Ponyboy had obviously decided to dress himself unaided this morning, his lime green t-shirt was on inside out and the wrong way round, one leg of his blue jeans was tucked into his odd socks and his shoes were on the wrong feet. He did however look very pleased with himself. Soda was not nearly as bad but his disheveled appearance suggested that he had spent more time trying to persuade Ponyboy that he was dressed wrongly than getting himself ready. His mid-length hair stuck up in odd tufts and it did not look like he had had time brush it, and his brown baseball boots hung loosely off his feet with the laces dragging behind. Darry sighed, looked like he was going to be late again this morning.

It took a while to convince Ponyboy that he was dressed wrongly and for Darry to fix him. Two-bit tried and failed three times to tie Soda's laces, the look of sheer concentration on his face was comical. Darry finally took over, Two-bit slumped off to the kitchen mumbling about the complexity of laces and how everyone should just wear buckles and have done with it. Darry quickly got Soda to run a brush through his hair before handing his brothers their backpacks and chiding them impatiently into the kitchen.

Mrs. Curtis bent down to kiss each of her sons before they left. Darry tried to pull away but she grabbed his head and planted an extra soppy kiss on his cheek.

"Mum," he moaned, hastily wiping his cheek, he was far too old to be being kissed by his mother now. She sighed and smiled sadly.

"How quickly your growing up these days," she said. Darry rolled his eyes, not this again. What did she want him to do stay a child forever? She had Ponyboy and Soda for goodness sake.

"Yeah okay mum. We are going now, see you later." He began walking toward the front door followed by Soda and Ponyboy. Two-bit stuck out his cheek to Mrs. Curtis. She laughed softly and gave the boy a quick kiss before he scurried off to join her sons. Two-bit had been around their house so much the past two years that sometimes she felt like she had gained a fourth son.

"See you later boys," called Mr. Curtis as they left the house. He got the mixed responses of;

"See ya later Mr. Curtis," and,

"See you later dad." He watched as the four boys left the front garden, closing the metal gate after themselves.

Darry set the ridiculously quick pace, his long strides allowing him to cover a greater distance in a shorter time than anyone else. Two-bit bounced along beside him, almost jogging to keep up. Ponyboy and Soda lagged behind having no hope to keep up with Darry, short of running.

"Do you know what?" asked Darry to no one in particular, "Once, just once. I would like not to be late for school."

"What?" Two-bit cocked an eyebrow, turning towards Darry "You wanna be early?"

"Not even early, just on time would suit me fine," said Darry exasperatedly, waving his hands

"Come on Dar, wheres the fun in that?" laughed Two-bit

"The fun, as you put it buddy. Would be that I did not have to spend the day avoiding the principle. I swear he has got it in for me, he's getting this attendance officer person to look into my punctuality. If it doesn't improve mum and dad will be getting a letter telling them that they are liable to be sued. We are only just making ends meet now, how are they going to be able to fork out an extra hundred dollars to pay a fine?" Two-bits brow furrowed. His face a picture of rare seriousness.

"That bad, huh?" he asked. "Do your parents know about it?"

"Nah man, they have enough worries as it is. Besides they both work and are gone most mornings even before we get up. There is no way they can take Soda and Ponyboy to school, so it has to be down to me."

"What are you going to do man?" he sounded genuinely concerned.

"I don't know, but I will think of something. I have to." Two-bit was struck by a sudden idea and the kind of one that he just had to share;

"How about in the night that you set all the clocks in the house forward an hour, so then you can wake Ponyboy and Soda up an hour earlier and no matter how much they dawdle you will still have an hour left before you leave for school. That way you would never be late." Darry had to laugh, there, right there was a prime example of how much of a scatterbrain Two-bit was. He would always come up with these mad, crazy idea's that must make sense only to him. Coming from anyone else that idea might have seemed remotely reasonable. But coming from Two-bit it sounded utterly preposterous. Also it was completely impractical, in his opinion his parents already got up early enough with out having to wake up an hour earlier than they had too, he also didn't think that they would thank him for making them an hour early for work. Knowing everyone in his house they would all forget to re-set the clocks back to normal time. No, there was just no chance that Two-bit's 'brilliant,' and that word used lightly, plan would work.

"Yeah buddy," laughed Darry sarcastically, "'cause that'll work." He gave Two-bit a light shove and ran off. Two-bit grinned widely and ran after him shouting;

"It's a perfectly good idea Dar."

"Suurree it is," Darry shouted back, drawing out the first word.

When the two reached the corner of Pickett and Sutton they had to stop. Soda and Ponyboy were now so far behind that they had both lost sight of them. Darry leaned casually back against the street lamp waiting for them to finally catch up. Here was another reason why he was always late, he had to spend half of his time waiting for his brothers to catch up with him. It was not like he was late on purpose, he had a lot more to do of a morning than most of the other kids in his grade, if only the principle saw it that way though. If anyone deserved to be punished for being late it was Soda and Ponyboy, not him. Two-bit took a seat on the gray flagstone pavement, slightly out of breath his chest rose and fell quickly.

Almost five minutes later the two younger boys caught up. Soda, Darry noted, did not look happy, but when did he ever these days. Darry swore that his brothers liked to make his life a misery, he did not know which was worse between a sullen and tempestuous eight year old or a six year old who always thought he was right and refused to be told otherwise. His parents had repeatedly told him that it was all part of his brothers growing up and he had been the exact same at their ages, apparently the stubborn six's and the explosive eight's ran in the family. But Darry refused to have excuses made for his brothers behavior.

"Do you know, it is a wonder we ever get anywhere with you two dawdling all of the time," said Darry as soon as Soda and Ponyboy drew level with him and Two-bit, who sensing the tension had suddenly became very interested in a hole he had found in his pocket.

"You two ran off," said Soda stonily, "You know me and Pony can't keep up," he was not about to be blamed for something that was not his fault. Darry was just about to tell him to watch his attitude, when his attention was caught by someone shouting his name.

He looked around before finally spotting Paul Holden on the other side of the street waving his arms at him.

"Hey," Darry called across to him to show that he had saw him. Paul dropped his arms and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his light blue jeans, before casually strolling across the empty road to where Darry stood. The blond haired boy was in his grade. He was the best Half-Back on the school football team.

"Hey," greeted Paul, clapping Darry on the shoulder.

"Hey Paul," Darry returned the gesture.

"Been looking for you," said Paul, shielding his eyes from glare of the bright morning sunshine, "me and a couple of mates are having a few friendly soccer matches today in the 'Old Park' after school, were playing against some guys a few streets away. Nothing major just a group of people doing something they enjoy. We could really use you on our team. What do you say? Can we count on you?"

"I don't know Paul," said Darry hesitantly, "I have to pick my brothers up from school." Darry glanced sideways to where the three boys stood. Two-Bit looking curious, Soda looking even more annoyed than before and Ponyboy looking a little anxious. He sighed, he really wanted to say yes, he loved soccer almost as much as he loved football but he just couldn't leave his brothers to walk home on their own, at least not in their neighborhood. His parents would kill him and he could not bring himself to do that to his brothers, not matter how much Pony and Soda got on his nerves at times.

"Come on they can walk home on their own," pleaded Paul, determined to get his own way.

"They can't," said Darry gravely, "I'm sorry Paul I really really want to but I just don't think - "

"Darry," Two-bit cut him off. Darry turned to face him.

"I can pick them up if you want, I will just tell your parents that you have gone to play soccer in the park and that you will be back soon," offered Two-Bit. Soda and Ponyboy looked longingly at Darry, they loved walking home with Two-Bit, it was always a load of fun. Darry saw his bothers pleading glances, he was a little hurt by them to be honest. But if it made his brothers happy and meant he could go and play Soccer with Paul then he could not see any harm in it.

"You'd do that?" Darry asked hardly daring to believe what he had heard. Two-Bit always seemed to find a way for everyone to do whatever they wanted without having to compromise. He always seemed to put himself out so that other people could do what they wanted to do. It was one of the things that Darry liked most about him, he was a good friend.

"Yeah sure man, as long as you are not hours and hours," replied Two-Bit seriously. Darry almost burst out laughing there and then, Two-Bit was telling _him_ not to be hours, talk about role reversal. Instead he allowed himself a wide grin.

"Thanks Two-Bit," he said earnestly. Turning back to Paul who had been watching their conversation interestedly, he said;

"Well looks like I can come then. What time do you want me to get there?"

"I knew you'd come through," said Paul satisfied, "Just come straight over after schools out, You know which park I mean don't you?"

"Yeah I know which one you mean." Darry could picture the place clearly in his mind. The rich West side kids thought the place was run down, thus they called it the 'Old Park' but Darry thought that there wasn't nothing wrong with it. The paint on the goal posts could use another coat and one of the goal nets had a small hole in but other than that, they were just being picky, there was nothing that could define the park as run down. The rich kids or as they were classed on the West side, the Soc's, short for Socials had to have the best of everything that money could buy.

"Good, see you there then," said Paul turning and beginning to walk away from the gang.

"See you," Darry called after him. After a couple more strides Paul turned round again.

"Oh by the way kid, thanks," he called to Two-Bit before finally walking off.

"Welcome," Two-Bit hollered back, grinning a goofy grin..

"Yeah," said Darry turning back to Two-Bit, "Thanks a lot."

"What can I say," said Two-Bit winking, "I'm just a great guy," he ran his hand through his shaggy, rusty-brown hair messing it up even more to make himself look tuffer. Darry laughed before saying;

"Yeah, with the term guy used lightly there, eh, Two-Bit, more like boy." Darry mocked him good naturedly, "You ain't got no muscle and you haven't even started shaving. Man you have no hope."

Two-Bit gave Darry a mock glare.

"Well Mr high and mighty you can just get down off your pedestal because you haven't started shaving either and you are two years older than me."

"Not yet I haven't but my dad said that it was only a matter of time," said Darry rubbing the smooth surface of his chin.

"Wait and see, in a few months I will have more hair on my face than you have on your head."

"What are you planning to do?" laughed Two-Bit, "Grow a beard? On no, no. Every time some one gets a hair cut, which is not very often in your house I have to say. You are going to go around scooping up all of the hair and then you are going to stick it to your face, in a vain attempt to make me believe that you have somehow grown this stubble all of a sudden." He laughed heartily. Then suddenly, the amusement was gone from his face. Replaced with seriousness, he looked at Darry as if disbelievingly. He uncertainly moved closer to his friend.

"What?" asked Darry just as uncertainly.

"Is that ... could it possibly be?" he mumbled moving ever closer.

"What? What is it?" Darry asked a little more urgently this time.

"Is that stubble I see?" Two-Bit leaned in for a closer look.

"Where?"

"Right ... There!" Two-Bit planted a hefty slap on Darry's cheek. His face was a priceless picture. Two-Bit would have paid any amount of money to get that look framed.

"Oh no sorry," he said barley containing his laughter at the priceless look on Darry's face, "It was just a little dust." Two-Bit had started running even before he had finished his sentence. Darry quickly took after him. Two-Bit's laughter ringing in his ears. He roughly tackled the boy to the ground, as he had done with his opposition so many times before on the pitch, and sat on his chest. Despite the blazing look in Darry's ice cold eyes he was not mad, quite on the contrary. Two-Bit like to take the mick out of people, he saw the golden moments of opportunity that most people seemed to miss and grasped them with both hands. It was one of the things that made him so funny. Darry seemed to be the only one as of yet, who could occasionally outwit him. Two-Bit may not have been real smart but he sure was witty and once he got going there was no stooping him. It got him into loads of trouble, most of the time because he just couldn't keep his mouth shut. He always thought that what he had to say was so funny that it should not just be kept to himself, the world should not be disadvantaged in not knowing, and that his remarks should be shared with anyone who was around to listen. He was of course right as well.

"Ponyboy Curtis!" Darry called. His youngest brother was at his side in moments.

"Tickle him," Darry ordered. Ponyboy grinned widely and approached Two-Bis right side.

"Nooo please," Two-Bit begged his eyes going wide, "Anything but that." The two brothers laughed, Two-Bit was the most ticklish person they knew.

He squealed with laughter as both of the brothers tickled each of his sides. All thoughts of being late and in a hurry completely wiped from Darry's mind. That was until their frolicking came to an end when Soda started shouting his mouth off to Darry.

"You moan at me and Pony for dawdling and making you late and then you mess around yourself! Why is it always one rule for you and another for everyone else?" shouted Soda. The three boy's laughter immediately stopped. Darry helped Two-Bit up, all the while staring daggers at Soda. Ponyboy looked nervously between his brothers. Two-Bit picked him up and held him, he knew full well that Pony didn't understand what was going on between his brothers. Heck, Two-Bit couldn't even make sense of it so how was Pony supposed to he didn't know.

"Don't you ever talk to me like that again Sodapop Patrick Curtis," warned Darry dangerously.

"You can't tell me what to do, your not mum and dad," retorted Soda.

"Doesn't matter, I'm your older brother and I know better than you," said Darry coldly and with an air of finality. Soda finally snapped.

"I hate you," he muttered venomously.

"What did you say to me?" demanded Darry, the rage he felt barely concealed in his voice. His tone almost dared Soda to say it again, Soda complied.

"I hate you Darry!" shouted Soda.

If it were not for Two-Bits strong, firm grip on Darry's shoulder he was almost certain that his friend would have charged over to his younger brother and slugged him one. Never before had Two-Bit saw that fiery rage that burned in Darry's usually cold eyes that he saw now.

"Darry!" he said urgently and with just the right amount of emotion in his voice to make the older boy listen. Darry turned towards him, his thunderous expression immediately softening at the sight that befell his eyes. His little brother curled, almost shaking in his best friends arms.

"Dar, your scaring Pony," he said gesturing a tad unnecessarily to the small boy huddled against his chest nervously surveying the scene around him.

"Hey Pony," Darry said his voice low and soothing although fire still burnt in his eyes. He took his youngest brother form Two-Bit's arms.

"It's okay Buddy," he reassured him, "Me and Soda are just a little angry, I'm sorry if we frightened you baby." Ponyboy still looked a little on edge but nodded, sinking into Darry's embrace.

"Lets go then," said Darry with a contemptuous look at Soda.

For the rest of the journey Soda refused to speak to Darry, which he wasn't bothered about at this particular moment, he didn't feel much like talking to Soda either. Everyone was quiet and the atmosphere was tense. Ponyboy walked with Two-Bit as he did not want to get caught up in his brothers argument, as he feared that it would only make matters worse. Darry was contemplating, never before had he been told to his face that someone hated him, least of all by one of his own brothers, and he had to admit it sucked. He didn't know what had happened to him back there, he had just lost it, maybe that was a good example of why Soda hated him, had he been that bad of a brother to him?

He wondered what he had done so badly to Soda to make him hate him. Underneath all of Darry's anger, although he would never admit it, he was hurting. Some one he loved and was supposed to love him back hated him. He had never before in his life heard Soda say that he hated anything. His brother had always been the Happy-go-lucky kind, but as soon as he had hit eight things began to change. Darry himself was only one year away from his teens but sometimes he thought that Soda was more like the up and coming teenager, not himself. Darry thought that there might be something more to it than just the 'explosive eights' as his parents called it and he made a decision at that moment to find out what it was one way or another.

At the school gates Soda hurried off before Darry could say a word. He watched his brother sadly, just wishing him to turn back around, even for the briefest second, just to let him know that things were okay between the two of them despite their earlier harsh words. Soda however did not turn around.

"Don't worry Dar, you two will work this out," Two-Bit reassured him, giving him a bracing slap on the shoulder.

"I know we will," said Darry, he got the impression that he was trying to convince himself with those words more than he was trying to convince Two-Bit. "It just might take some time." He then bent down to say goodbye to Ponyboy.

"See you later buddy," he said hugging his little brother and ruffling his hair, "Have a good day and remember Two-Bit is walking you home, so don't go looking for me. Stay where he can find you." Ponyboy looked up at Two-Bit who winked at him.

"Okay," he said turning back to Darry.

"Later man," he said to Two-Bit, clapping him on the shoulder. "Come and meet me down at the old park later, about half four-ish and we will go for a milkshake."

"Will do," replied Two-Bit merrily. He turned to Ponyboy, "Come on you little monkey, I'll race you," he said.

Darry watched the both of them go until they were firmly inside the school gates. You never could be sure with Two-Bit. He watched the race end and Two-Bit win, with Ponyboy coming a very close second. He didn't think Two-Bit had run purposely slow either. Boy Pony was going to make a great athlete one day. With that he turned away from the gates of the Elementary school and made his way round to the other side of the building, to the entrance to his own Middle School.

All of the four boys went to Tulsa Community School, as did a few others from their neighborhood, everyone else was either of middle class or above. It was the largest school for miles around so everyone in the immediate area went there. It had four main buildings all separated from each other. The smallest of which held the kindergarten classes, this was the most brightly coloured building by far. Pictures and eye catching posters covered many of the first floor windows and there was also a brightly painted Murial on the wall outside. Darry remembered the happy days he had spent in that building when the only thing he had to worry about was what toy was he going to play with next. Not like now, where he worried about almost everything. Then there was the Elementary building where grades 1 to 6 went. This was the largest building by far. The windows in this building concentrated more on slogans than brightly coloured pictures. Displaying posters that said such corny things as; "The Early Bird Catches The Learn" and, "Be Cool. Be In School." Darry always thought that tuff was a better word than cool although they both basically meant the same thing but that was probably only because everyone around by his used tuff and he heard it on a daily basis. Tulsa Community High was located on another site but still counted as part of the school. It was an ominous looking building and it seemed to stick out like a sore thumb in it's scenarist surroundings.

Darry rued the day that he would ever have to step foot into that place. Who you were in Middle School didn't count once you hit High School. The popular kids found that most hard to adapt too. In a mere couple of weeks someone could go from the top of the social status right the way down to the bottom and that is what scared people. The unpopular kids had nothing to lose, for them it was a new start, a clean slate and a chance to do things all over again. But those with status stood to lose everything and Darry was one of those people. But then, who you were in High School didn't really count in the real world either. Darry pushed all of these thoughts to the back of his head, he was only in 7th Grade, all this worrying could be saved until next year.

Finally Darry arrived at the entrance gates of Tulsa Community Middle School. It was all the way around the other side from where he had dropped off Two-Bit, Soda and Ponyboy.

As soon as he stepped through the gates he became a different person, or so it seemed anyway. To everyone around he was now, Darrel Curtis, cool, swerve, good looking sports star. The guy all the girls wanted to date and all the guys wanted to be. Smart, strong, funny and all round good person. All his problems, cares, worries and emotions gone. Hidden under a mask of calmness and a deep, icily blue, piercing stair. This was the one part of his life that no one could intrude on, the one thing that he had shaped for himself. He was proud at what he had achieved, but lately it kind of brought him down. He felt like he was two different people living two different lives, his home life and his school life. He was from the West side which automatically classed him as a Greaser, weather he wanted to be or not, but in school no one knew where he lived, and he was thought of as more of a Soc within it's walls.

He was so different in both 'lives' that he no longer knew in which he was being true to himself. Was he a Soc or Greaser? He had to adhere to rules in the both of them, at home the rules were there to protect him and to keep him safe but in school they only served to keep up a continuous image to everyone around him. He had to be what everyone else expected him to be, but what did he expect himself to be. For so long he had lived up to others expectations with out ever having any of his own. His parents expected him to get good grades, he had studied hard and was now passing every subject with straight A's. His coach had expected him to be better at football, so he trained every day for a year to be the best he could possibly be, eventually being promoted up to Captain. His team expected him pull off amazing downs in every game, so he took every opportunity presented to him to try to pull off ever more spectacular downs. His friends expected him to be a leader to them, a decision maker, so he took charge. The list was endless. Everyone expected something from him and he had lived up to their expectations.

He had got what he had always wanted, but he was no longer sure that it made him happy. Something kept nagging away at the back of his mind, if the people in school found out that he was supposedly a Greaser, would he still be popular, or would he end up like the rest of the kids from his neighborhood. What was the use in being popular when everyone liked a person that wasn't really you. Darry though himself a fake, an impostor, building himself up as something he wasn't. Sooner or later he thought, it was all going to catch up with him But if he really had the chance to change it, to become his so called real self, Greaser or no Greaser, he didn't think he would. Back then though he believed that no one could have taken it away from him. He was wrong.

"Yo Darrel! Wait up will ya'," called a voice behind him. Darry turned round to see a tall medium built blond running towards him through the sea of people. Darry immediately stopped and waited for his friend to catch up. Christopher Taylor, he thought, it was funny how just a name could sum up a person so well. There was not a word yet derived that could fully describe Christopher Taylor, so his name just had to suffice. Although to call him a blond would not be justifiable, his hair was sandy blond and had flecks of brown that ran through it. His eyes were, not a word of a lie, emerald green. He had a handsome face and a dazzling smile. Today he supported an orange sleeveless T-shirt, old worn trainers and a pair of old baggy patchwork jeans. Darry almost burst out laughing, only Chris Taylor could come into school with patchwork jeans and still look tuff – sorry cool. Cool, he reprimanded himself. He could not say tuff here.

"late again?" he asked, regaining his composure, as soon as Chris fell into line beside him. He ran a hand through his hair sheepishly before answering only;

"Yeah," a guilty smile played on his face. Darry rolled his eyes making sure that Chris caught the gesture. Chris gave him a light shove.

"Your late too, every morning I might add."

"I have a lot to do in the mornings, unlike _some_ people." Chris was looking sheepish again. True enough Darry was late every morning, but Chris was always right there along side him. It was not like he had any valid excuse either, he lived what, 10 minutes away from the school and he had no one but himself to get ready and worry about. When all said and done the guy was just lazy. Nothing short of a massive explosion or his grandmother banging a frying pan down his ear would get him up in the mornings and even that was only after eight o'clock.

They walked in silence after that for a bit, each stopping off now and again to say hello to teammates, people from their classes, friends and basically anyone who shouted hello to them.

"No wonder were late all of the time," said Darry as he came back from discussing tactics with one his teammates for the up and coming game.

"That's the price of popularity mate," said Chris, cheerfully waving to the brunet haired head cheerleader who he had just spotted over by the water fountain on the grass verge. He blew a kiss to her which she caught before waving goodbye to him.

"So," said Darry cocking an eyebrow, a trick that he had picked up from Two-Bit, "Whats the deal with you and her? You two together?" Chris turned towards him a mischievous grin playing across his face.

"Ooooh don't think I haven't heard the rumors about you and her Mr. Darrel Curtis," he mocked.

"Just rumors I assure you," grinned Darry calmly.

"You had better hope so, she's my girl." Darry almost took him seriously until he took one look at Chris's face and burst out laughing. Chris was just too laid back to think about warning someone off 'his girl' as he put it. In fact Chris was too laid back to even think about someone else going after his girl. Darry remembered one of his friends telling Chris once that; 'if he were any more laid back he would be on the floor and people would be using him as a welcome mat. He couldn't remember exactly who it had been though.

"You know what they will be saying next don't you?" Chris was saying, "Next it will be that she is going out with both of us and we have all came up with this plan in which we all going to share our love or something," he joked. Darry turned to look at him slightly repulsed.

"Urgh! If that one comes out I am definitely putting my foot down."

"Me too," agreed Chris, "Theres ludicrous, creepy, disturbed and then there's that."

"Too right."

"It amuses me how people come up with all these wild and crazy stories though," mulled Chris.

"It's called having no life, to those people it must almost seem like having a hobby," laughed Darry.

"Wow, that's sad."

"Agreed."

The two ascended up the stone steps that lead into the entrance hall of the building. The corridor was filled with the hustle and bustle of students moving to different classes. There were sounds of laughter, shouting, arguing and a lot of loud conversations. Down the far end of the corridor a large crowd had gathered and were watching a girl have an intensely public break up with her boyfriend.

"Guess we missed registration then," said Chris jamming his hands into his jeans pockets.

"Yeah, lets avoid Digby, if he sees me I will be hauled into his office faster than you can say caught," suggested Darry. Digby was the name of the schools principle. Arnold Digby to give him his full title.

"Good idea," agreed Chris.

As quickly as they could and with trying to draw as little attention to themselves as they could, which was easier said than done when it seemed like every one in the school wanted to say something to you, they both headed down the corridor to their English class. The door was shut and they could already here Mr. Wainwrights voice coming from within.

"You go first, he likes you," whispered Chris pushing Darry forward. Darry glared at him for a moment before taking a breath and opening the door.

"Late again Mr. Curtis, Mr. Taylor," drawled Mr. Wainwright without even looking up from the pile of papers he was sifting through.

"Sorry," they both mumbled and hurried to their seats at the back of the class. Each and every persons eyes in the room darting to them as they walked past.

"Your only supposed to repent for the actions that you do not intend to repeat Misters Taylor and Curtis. So in this instance we shall forget that you said anything." Mr. Wainwright finally looked up from the pile of papers on his desk. His expression was unreadable, just completely blank. The two just grinned sheepishly, taking the empty desks behind their other friends; Craig Smith and Andrew Farrel.

Craig sat up straight, attentive and alert. While Andrew slumped in his chair scribbling something onto the table. He turned round as soon as Darry and Chris took a seat.

Andrew had fair brown sandish hair and ocean like blue eyes .His fine features always gave the impression of an amused look on his face and he seemed to exuberant an air that made him approachable by anyone. He was averaged sized with a well built but toned body. He wore light blue jeans with a baize top and his football team jacket wrapped around his waist. He would never chance wearing the thing off the pitch for the fear that it might get dirty, but that would never stop him from having it with him at all times. That red and white jacket was his most prized possession.

"This class yawns," he informed his friends. Darry gave him a polite smile, not really listening. He thought what Mr. Wainwright had to say held a lot more importance to his education than what Andrew had to say at this precise moment.

Andrew Farrel was not the sharpest tool in the box or even the shed, but he was an all round nice guy who had never been know to have been a jerk to anyone. He was also, next to Darry, the schools best Football player. Sometimes he kind of reminded Darry of a lovable, cute, lost puppy.

"I have marked your essays," Mr. Wainwright went on, "Some of you have done better than I would have expected, while others of you have disappointed me to say the least. Your grades for this essay will be going on you permanent record. If you have done your best then you have nothing to fear, but if you haven't, then I would start worrying now." He started to hand the essays out to the corresponding people.

Darry looked around at his friends. Andrew tapped his foot nervously on the floor, he never really got good grades but he always seemed to do the worst in English. Chris didn't seem bothered but when did he ever and Craig sat completely still, his eyes fixed to the front of the class. Darry knew that Craig had nothing to worry about, he got good marks in everything. Right now though, Darry was more concerned about himself. He thought he had done a pretty good job when he had handed that essay in, but now he wasn't so sure. He thought there were a couple of spelling mistakes in there and he was almost sure that he had messed up paragraph three. To late to worry about it now he told himself.

Mr. Wainwright was getting closer, all around the room Darry could see peoples face's dropping. He could feel his heart sinking into his stomach. He needed a good grade

Finally their turns came, first he placed Craig's essay in front of him smiling. He's done it, thought Darry vaguely, he's got another good grade. The Chris's and another smile, although smaller this time, Chris has done it too, he thought, now the pressure was really on. Next came Andrews, no smile this me though. Darry's heart skipped a beat, the suspense was getting to him now. He wanted to know one way or another what he had got. Slowly Mr. Wainwright reached into the ever dwindling pile of essays in his hand and pulled out another one. Darry immediately recognized it as his own due to the fact that it had a small picture of a horse in the bottom corner of the first page, drawn by Ponyboy. It was actually quite a good picture, but it had no place on Darry's essay. Mum had shouted at Pony for doing that and if he remembered correctly he hadn't been to pleased about it either, but he had been in an even greater rush that morning than usual and had no time to re-do it as it was due in that very day. Darry's stomach somersaulted in nervous anticipation.

"Well done Mr. Curtis," said Mr. Wainwright quiet enough for only Darry to hear. He placed the essay in front of Darry and walked away. Darry quickly flipped through the essay and found his grade. A+. Yes! He thought could have run five times around the football pitch with the amount of excitement that he felt at moment. Sure he had gotten A's before but there was something just that little more satisfying about getting an A plus. Also it meant that he could now enroll at the Summer Soccer School that he had set his mind on. Eagerly he turned to his friends.

"What did you guy's get?" he asked excitedly.

"A plus," smiled Craig turning round for the first time, his chocolate eyes twinkling with reserved joy.

"B," said Chris looking rather surprised himself.

"D plus," said Andrew looking disappointed.

"Hey thats almost a C minus," said Darry in an attempt to cheer him up slightly. When they were younger Andrew used to muck around a lot, he always had to play the class clown, and now that he wanted to do something about it, it was too late.

"Yeah. It's alright I don't mind. What did you get Dar?"

"A plus." He had to admit that he felt a little guilty saying his score, especially after Andrew admitting his D.

"Well done," said Andrew genuinely, smiling.

"Hey Craig, you've got competition," teased Chris. Craig smiled at Darry.

"Bring it on," he said.

Craig had dark brown almost black hair and deep chocolate coloured eyes that seemed to hold mysteries, they were like doorways to other worlds. He had richly tanned skin and an air that suggested that he was always miles away.. He was the smallest in the gang and quite slight of build. He wore simply dark blue denim jeans with a white top and trainers.

"Do any of you know where Mitchell James is?" Mr. Wainwright was back again. Mitchell James was the fifth and final member of the gang.

"No sir, we haven't seen him," replied Darry honestly.

"Hmmm. Well if any of you do see him could you please give this to him and tell him that I want to see him?" he said placing Mitchell's scrawled essay onto Darry's table before walking off.

"Lets see what he got," said Chris excitedly as son as Mr. Wainwright was out of ear shot.

"Boy it must be really bad if Wainwright wants to see him," he reached for the essay.

"Wait," said Craig looking uncertain, "Can we do that?" Chris shrugged not really bothered weather he could or not. He would and that was the end of it.

"Darry?" Craig asked, Darry always seemed to be the one that had to make the final decision. He thought hard for a moment weighing up the options.

"I don't really see why not, he wont care either way if we look or not." Chris excitedly flipped through the sheets of paper.

"It still feels kind of wrong, like an invasion of someone's privacy. People put a lot of themselves into what they write," Craig went on. Darry had know Craig for the past four years and he knew that he had firm morals on what he thought was right and wrong. He hated going against them but would if Darry said so.

"Don't worry," he told his friend firmly.

"Ha!" cried Chris triumphantly, "F minus."

"Wow," said Andrew visibly brightening, "Suddenly my D doesn't seem that bad."

"Yeah," agreed Chris, "No wonder he didn't come in this morning." Darry rolled his eyes. Chris had an opinion on everything and he just always had to share it, but then he would rather let other people make the decisions and follow them instead of making a decision himself. He was fairly easy to get along with though as long as things didn't get too deep, or too messy with complicated emotions. Chris was the type of person that didn't understand something until it happened to him. Craig was the deep one, Darry felt that he read more into things than anyone knew, he seemed to understand and make scene of almost anything. Darry kind of admired him for that, there were not many people in Tulsa who were willing to listen to you and try to help you out. Craig was a one off. He was also kind of bookish, but just cool enough to pull it off.

A tinny metal bell rang, signaling he end of first lesson and for students to start making their way to their next lessons.

"Class dismissed," called Mr. Wainwright above the din of scraping chairs and chatter. No one paid any attention to him.

"Urgh Maths," groaned Andrew making his way out of the classroom.

"Algerbbrraa," smiled Chris happily, drawing out the las three letters of the word for full effect. Darry and Craig laughed while Andrew looked confused.

"Wash your mouth out with soap," said Darry swatting Chris over the head with his essay. Andrew laughed finally seeing the humor in what Chris had said. He was always the last to get a joke.

"Ten years later there Andrew," teased Chris.

"Shurrup," he said, giving Chris a shove, "We'll see who's laughing when I whip your ass on the pitch." Chris gave him a look that said; bring-it-on.

"We'll see who's still laughing after I whip all of your asses on the pitch you bunch of sissies," said Darry unable to resist. He gave each of his friends a wallop over the head before running off with Chris, Andrew and Craig hot on his heels. The four of them laughing all the way.

The rest of the morning was a tediously boring affair. Maths followed by Social Studies did not make for a great overall mood. Algebra despite Chris' earlier quip about it's slightly amusing name, was not an enjoyable topic. The combination of numbers and letters swirled around in everybody's heads in a confusing mess. Even Craig was slightly off form, getting an answer not completely right. Boy was everyone glad when the bell rang signaling break.

The lesson after break and before dinner was always a drag, but when that lesson also happened to be Social Studies those fifty-five minutes felt like some form of slow torture. Craig who was the most studious in any class usually found his attention wandering in that lesson. Darry tried his up most to stay attentive and take notes, but he just ended up doodling on the paper in front of him instead of writing anything worthwhile. Andrew took this lesson as an opportunity to catch up on any lost sleep due to excessive training. While Chris just stirred in a fixated way out of the window. Darry had tried that tactic once, it had amused him for all of five minutes. He guessed that he just didn't see what Chris did.

All of this was not helped any by the fact that the teacher that took the class had the most boring voice in the world. He droned on and on and insisted on giving lectures on every minuscule piece of information in the syllabus. Darry thought that the man could cure insomnia if given the chance, just simply by talking. No one knew his name and no one bothered to ask in case they got lectured. Each and every lesson as soon as he welcomed the class into the room, which he insisted on doing, everyone immediately stopped listening. Thank god thought Darry, that he only had to endure this lesson twice a week.

Darry quickly took a sweeping glance around the room, noting that everyone looked about as bored as he felt. He glanced at the clock; 11:50, there were still ten minutes left. Ten minutes could last a life time in this class. But at least he had an hour and a half lunch break to recover before he had to go to fourth lesson. His attention was suddenly drawn to the empty desk beside him. Still no Mitchell.

The second the bell rang everyone was out of the door. Longing for fresh air and the feel of the warm midday sun on their skin

Lunch time found Darry, Chris, Craig and Andrew sitting in the stands of the football pitch. It wasn't strictly allowed, but the coach was pretty lenient about breaking the rules a little for his team, as long as they didn't cause any trouble. Darry knew that it wasn't really fair but then the team worked hard out on the pitch, so he thought they deserved at least one privilege.

Darry sat sprawled across two rows of benches. Chris lay stretched out across one, eyes closed against the glare of the sun. Craig sat a row or two away in the shade and Andrew sat on the rail that surrounded the edge of the stand. All around them lay scattered empty juice cartoons, wrappers, containers and an apple core from their earlier lunch. They would have to make sure all of that went in the bin before the end of lunch, they didn't think that the coach would take to kindly to his pitch being littered.

Andrew broke the easy silence;

"Don't you think Mr. Wainwright looks like a monkey?" There was a moment of of stunned quiet before the other three boys burst out laughing. There was never a dull moment when Andrew was around.

"No seriously," persisted Andrew, "if you swing back on your chair and squint your eyes enough you can almost imagine him as an Orangutan." The three boys only laughed harder, Darry thought he heard Craig mumble something about Orangutans being Apes not Monkeys but he did not pull Andrew up on the matter.

"You do know that you are complete raving loony don't you?" Chris asked Andrew, "I reckon that when you were a baby you were dropped on your head, often."

The four boys were laughing so hard that they did not hear someone approaching them from behind.

"Where's the party?" asked a cool but gravely rough voice. The four boys spun around.

"Well well, nice of you to finally decide to grace us with your presence Mitch," teased Chris.

"Smartarse," grumbled Mitchell, whacking Chris over the head. Chris scowled rubbing the back of his head.

"Any need for the roughness? It's a wonder I'm not brain dead by now the amount of times you all whack me over the head."

"Shhurruupp," drawled Mitchell, taking a seat beside Darry. Chris scowled again, he would never have a real argument with Mitchell. He believe that arguments were a waste of time in which nothing really got solved, but that didn't mean that he couldn't get a little annoyed from time to time.

Darry had felt the atmosphere change as soon as Mitchell had joined them. He knew that Craig and Mitchell were too extremely different to ever get on and that Craig maybe even feared Mitchell slightly. Andrew felt uncomfortable around him, he always tended to be more clumsy when Mitchell was around, he had confided in Darry that he thought Mitch was always watching him, waiting for him to slip up so he could laugh. Neither spoke very much while Mitchell was around. Chris just went with the flow of things, but there were times when you could see his patience and calm composure starting to fray.

Mitchell was not liked by very may people to be perfectly honest, but they all sure as hell respected him and gave him a wide berth. He was a bit of a loose cannon with a violent temper, the most dangerous out of the group, wild and reckless with no morals, he was a time bomb of pent up rage just waiting to explode. But things hadn't always been that way Mitchell had used to be different, a fun loving guy who lived for the beautiful game that was football. No one knew for certain what had turned him the way he was now, but Darry was almost certain that it had something to do with his home life. He had very rarely heard Mitchell talk of his parents but when he did so, it would always be with contempt.

"Where have you been?" Darry asked. Mitchell grinned before answering.

"Me 'n Rad have bee hunting some action." Darry didn't know what the hell that meant and wasn't sure he wanted to either. It could have been anything from girls or a brush with the law to something incredibly reckless and dangerous that could wind up causing someone to loose their life. Mitchell and Radley James were capable of it all.

"Find some?" Darry asked to make pleasant conversation.

"A little," he grinned, leaning back against the bench behind him, arms folded underneath his head.

It was only then that Darry fully took in how badly he looked. His strawberry blond hair that could almost pass for just blond was limp and untidy. There was something different about his hazel eyes with their touches of green. All of the fights that he had been in recently had left him with a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. His tall, skinny and gangly body type made him look ill. His skin was pasty, his face rather gaunt and his eyes slightly sunken. He didn't look very well off at all. But as per usual his clothes were in a pristine condition. His baize pants had not a speck of dirt on and his red and white checked Madras shirt contained not a single crease. Darry wanted to ask him if everything was alright but he thought better of it.

"So what have I missed?" asked Mitchell.

"Other than our essay results back from Mr. Wainwright, nothing," Darry told him.

"Oh. You know what I got? Bet it was something juicy like a G wasn't it?" he said in a bored tone. Darry reached into his back pack and pulled out Mitchell's essay, handing it to him. Mitchell flipped through it to the last page.

"F minus," he scoffed, "I deserve at least an E handing the damn thing in."

"Wainwright wants to see you as well," Chris informed Mitchell.

"Yeah 'cause thats just going to happen," droned Mitchell, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"I think you should go and see him," said Darry. If any one else had suggested this to Mitchell he would have socked them for questioning and undermining his decision. But not Darry. To Darry he just simply said;

"Why? So he can tell me that I'm failing. I know I'm failing and quite frankly I don't give a damn. It would just be a waste of both of our times." his cocky smile was gone, replaced by a grim slash.

"But he could help you," persisted Darry, "you could bump up your grade."

"I wouldn't accept his help and you know it," said Mitchell gravely. Darry could always get past Mitchell's I'm-a-tough-guy-and-nothing-phases-me bravado. Down to what he really felt, that scared Mitchell, a lot. That tough exterior was all that was holding his volatile inside together, beneath it he was in utter turmoil. He could sense Darry doing it again, getting inside his head and he didn't like it one bit. He quickly changed the subject, firmly replacing his cocky grin on his face and covering up the cracks that had began to show in his exterior.

"What are you all planning to do tonight?" he asked looking at each of his friends in turn, when no one answered and things started to get a little uncomfortable Darry quickly supplied;

"I am going down to the 'Old Park' to have a few games of soccer with Paul Holden and a couple of his mates."

"Nice," said Mitchell reaching into his pocket and retrieving a cigarette and a lighter. He lit the little stick and placed it in his mouth, taking a long drag of it. Darry was almost about to blurt out a string of questions about this new development, but once again thought better of it.

"It'll do good for people to see you walk that way once in a while and I mean actually see you," he went on. For a while now almost everyone in the school had been under the impression that Darry lived on the West side of town, close to Mitchell. This story had been concocted up and helped along by Mitchell himself. Who out of their group was the only one who was above middle class. If Darry had not been friends with him, or had not been helped out of sticky situations by him so many times, Darry would have probably called him a soc like half the kids in his neighborhood did already. Mitchell had gotten into many fights with kids from Darry's neighborhood, not that he knew it, that was how his nose had been broken the first time. Not even the group knew the exact specifics of where Darry lived, just the East side of town in a rough neighborhood, and there were plenty of them.

"People don't always have to see something to believe it Mitch. Besides I think we have got them all convinced by now," he said dismissively.

Most people believed that Darry only walked East to pick up his brothers from school as his lawyer parents were always to busy too. But Mitch still made him at least twice a week, walk back round to the middle school gates, turn right and then walk West for a bit until near enough everyone had turned off. Then, and only then he could turn off himself and head East. It had so far worked brilliantly, especially when a random person from his grade saw him and decided to walk up with him for a bit. But Darry could not deny that it got on his nerves and Soda and Pony were never to pleased about it either. To be honest most of the time Darry didn't even bother, if Mitchell was off on that day or had detention or was otherwise engaged, Darry usually went East to pick up his brothers and just kept on walking that way. Hardly anyone from Middle School walked East and the only ones who did where from his neighborhood or around that area.

"Perhaps. But the more often people see you walking up that way, the better it will look for all of us, especially you," said Mitchell sternly. Darry grew a little annoyed, he did not understand why people had to be divided because of which side of town they lived on. Greaser was used to class all the boys on the East side, while the term Soc was used to class all of the boys on the West side. Soc's, the West-side-rich-kids, people like Mitchell got all of the brakes. With their rich parents, fancy houses and when they were old enough, their tuff cars. They wore Madras shirts and listened to The Beatles, they thought Elvis was out. While Greasers, people that lived around by Darry and maybe even himself, got nothing. Most of them came from broken homes, they acted out and blew up, whenever things got too much for them because they couldn't do anything else, earning them the stereotype of hoods or juvenile delinquents. They wore their hair long and styled with generous amounts of hair grease, thus earning them the name Greasers.

There was a very fine line and a shade of decency that separated Greasers and Hoods. It was dangerous to be a Greaser even more so than a Soc. Soc's liked to jump Greasers for fun, now every Greaser carried with him a blade and even sometimes a heater, to protect them selves with, in case it was ever them that got jumped. Greasers though were by no means push overs, they were tough. They could take almost anything. It took a lot to break a Greaser. They always beat the Soc's in a fair fight. But no matter how many times they whipped the Soc's they always to still ended up at the bottom. Greasers thought that Elvis was tuff and that The Beatles were rank.

Darry did not think himself a Greaser even though he came from the same deprived area. But then, neither did he think himself a Soc although sometimes he was pretty sure he acted like one, Soc's always hid behind a wall of indifference, careful not to let there real selves show through, wasn't that exactly what Darry did at school? He was pretty sure though that both sides thought of him as their own kind.

"I'm not ashamed of where I live Mitch," said Darry forcefully. Craig, Chris and Andrew all looked on anxiously. Darry and Mitch never fought, that was the be all and end all. They never argued, they never got annoyed with each other, they had never even raised their voices to each others before this day. Deep down everybody knew that if ever Darry and Mitch did fight then it would be on a grand and devastating scale.

"No?" Mitchell blew smoke from his mouth, his voice was low and dangerous, "What do you think would happen if all those people over there," Mitchell pointed to the main yard where most of the school were gathered, "Knew how unashamed of where you lived you are." Darry knew what would happen, he could wave goodbye to everything he had worked so hard to achieve. Everyone looked down on the kids from his neighborhood, the Greasers, no-on would speak to them unless it was to hurl insults at them. Those kids had it rough, they stayed together in their tight knit groups never straying to far alone, be it for safety or just for conformity. Darry knew a fair few of them from when he was younger and he was pretty sure that some of them still remembered him too. They had used to play together, things had been different back then. He knew that anyone of them could have ratted him out at anytime and all the lies he had told to better himself could be shattered in an instant, but they never had. Darry made a mental note to find out exactly why one day.

"I know what would happen," said Darry coldly.

"Then I hope that you realize that what I am doing is for your own good. I am only trying to protect you," said Mitchell, his voice was stern but yet pleading, as if begging Darry to listen and see things his way. The right way in his opinion. Almost like a father to his repetitively disobedient young son.

"Your one of us Darrel Curtis, just not by class. We know that and we can overlook it, but the rest of them don't, they would never be able so see past the fact that your from the East side. They just don't see things the way we do. Thats what I am trying to protect you from. From them."

"I know all that Mitch," said Darry, but still something didn't seem right, he shouldn't have to live a lie just because he was from the East side of town. He shouldn't have to be labeled. But that was the way things were and just because he thought that things shouldn't happen, wouldn't change the fact that they did.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I guess I am just so sick off all these lies all the time. I know there for my own good but I just don't understand why Greasers and Soc's have to be against each other all the time. They're born on different sides of town but does that really make them so different form each other? It just kind of wears you down."

"Course it does," said Mitchell, fully over Darry snapping at him now. Darry was unsure of what Mitchell was agreeing too. Was he agreeing that the the Soc's and the Greasers being born on different sides of town made them so vastly different. Or was he agreeing that constant lies wore a person down. Darry couldn't be certain and did not want to pursue the matter. He felt that he had already pushed Mitchell's patience and temper far enough today.

"But take a look around you. Imagine this stadium full of people, all shouting your name, all willing you to score a spectacular goal. Now you can't tell me that that isn't worth all the lies." Darry smiled, for a moment there he was sure he saw a flicker of the old Mitchell. But then it was gone.

"No I can't."

"Thats the spirit," said Mitchell with a bracing smile, ruffling Darry's hair.

The bell rang signaling the end of lunch.

"What have we got?" asked Mitchell dropping the cigarette butt and stumping it out under his foot.

"Physics. Then Art," said Craig gathering up his backpack and rubbish.

"Swerve that," grumbled Mitchell, looking around, "I think I am going to cut out, see you guys later." He gave Darry a playful slap on the back before walking off. Craig and Andrew gave muttered goodbye's.

"Flunk-out, you've only just got here," Chris bellowed after him smiling. He always liked to get the last word in with Mitchell, it gave him a warm feeling to beat the young rogue at something. Without turning round Mitchell stuck two fingers up at Chris who just laughed. They watched as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Do you think he will get caught?" asked Craig. He may not have liked Mitchell that much but he would not have wished trouble upon him. Mitchell was quite capable of doing that himself.

"Does he ever," laughed Andrew.

"Don't worry," Darry reassured Craig, "He wont get caught, he's too good."

"Yeah," sighed Andrew almost enviously.

"Okay Andy, enough drooling, your leaving a nasty mess on the floor," teased Chris, using the nickname that Andrew hated and pouncing on his back.

"Don't call me Andy," shouted Andrew throwing Chris off his back. Chris landed in a heap on the floor, he sat glaring up at Andrew who was almost doubled over with laughter.

"Oh yeah?" Chris took his chance while Andrew was distracted to tackle him to the floor. Andrews laughter turned into an uumph of shock as he tumbled to the ground.

"No one puts Christopher Taylor on the floor and gets away with it," he announced proudly before running off. Andrew lay dazed on the floor for a couple of seconds but as soon as he recovered he took of after Christopher.

"Kids," laughed Darry shaking his head at Craig who was laughing too. The two trailed behind watching their friends antics up ahead. They found a bin and dumped all of their rubbish, before heading off to class.

Physics was a fairly easy lesson, it consisted mainly of practicals and observations, which anyone could do. Andrew was failing the least in this subject, any blunders that he did happen to make, were quickly covered up by his friends and laughed off. Darry held him in high admiration, no matter how bad things got Andrew always seemed to bounce back. A quality he had told them that his mother had possessed.

Darry, Craig and Andrew occupied one table, they had had numerous offers to join other tables but they had all politely refused. Each thought it was nice sometimes to just have the company of close friends and no one else. Chris of course was absent from the group, they had expected no less from him while the head cheerleader, Rebbecca, was in the same room. The three boys discreetly watched the two huddled in the corner. Darry noticed that each kept glancing down and he had the sneaking suspicion that the two were holding hands underneath the table. Darry thought it was kind of weird to see one's friend fraternizing with a girl but he guessed he would be the same before long. He just didn't digg girls that much right now. Sure he talked to them, especially the ones that hung around the soccer pitch, they like him shared a passion for the sport and he could relate to them. They also didn't giggle at everything he said, god how girls made a guy feel uncomfortable. To be quite honest, he just didn't understand girls. He thought the only normal girls in the school were the ones from the soccer pitch. He wasn't sure how much longer that would last though.

Andrew very rarely talked too girl, he was always fearful that he would do something stupid, it was laughed off within the group but he was unsure of how he would react in front of everyone else. Craig was exceptionally clever and tended to over complicate everything, not believing that something was as simple as it appeared. If ever he fell for a girl it would have to be one that could give him a run for his money. And Mitchell, well he was just mean to everyone regardless of weather the liked him or not.

A right group we are thought Darry, the most popular guys we may be, but we are still just basically a bunch of people just trying to fit in, like everybody else. We just help the school bring home the league trophy every year. Boy popularity was a fickle affair.

Darry watched as Chris wound one of Rebecca's tight, corkscrew, brunet curls delicately around his finger. Wow, this was getting uncomfortable. It felt very invasive to be watching but yet at the same time it was rather captivating.

As soon as the bell rang Darry, Craig and Andrew quickly made their way to art, giving Chris and Rebbecca a bit of much needed privacy.

Chris arrived five minutes later, his cheeks had a distinctly flushed hue to them. Darry hid his snicker, Chris was rather flustered, he tripped over Craig's bag on the way to his seat. Darry had a very good idea as to why Chris was so flustered but he decided to not pursue it. Andrew however could not resist a little dig at his friend.

"Hey Chris, is that a little bit of lip-gloss I see on your cheek?" Teased Andrew getting Chris back for all the times he had gotten a dig in at him.

"Get lost," Chris mumbled not meeting Andrew's eyes, but rubbing his cheek anyway and also his lips.

"Oh there as well eh?" said Andrew joyfully, raising his eyebrows to Darry and Craig. Chris' only response was a pencil being bounced off Andrews head. Darry could not contain his laughter any longer. Chris scowled and threw another pencil at Darry, who easily dodged it. Things carried on in much the same fashion until the art teacher entered the the class and told them to stop messing about.

Everyone was rather thankful when the end of the day came, Wednesday's lessons sucked and seemed to drag on forever. But on a positive note it was the middle of the week.

Darry walked out of the school gates with Andrew, Chris had gone off to meet Rebbecca and Craig had gone to his second home, the library. Instead of turning left to pick his brothers up and then eventually walking East, he turned right and walked West. Andrew walked at his side.

"I'll walk up to the 'Old Park' with you and then I'll turn off and head home. I don't like the idea of you walking all the way up there by yourself," he said.

"Andrew you don't have to do that, I have walked up here hundreds of times before. I wont get lost you know," Darry reassured him.

"I know you wont get lost but you were always either with your brothers or Mitch when you walked up here before. I don't know, I just don't want you to walk their on your own." Each of his four friends had seen his brothers from one time to another.

"Thanks," said Darry gratefully. Andrew nodded.

They began walking down the road. They only got about half way when,

"Andrew!" Someone shouted from behind, both Andrew and Darry turned around to see who it was. A girl with long reddish brown hair was running towards them. Darry walked off a little to allow the two to talk.

He watched as Andrew and the girl talked, they seemed comfortable in each others company and looked like friends. The conversation was short and the girl gave Andrew a hug before walking off back down the road.

"Sorry," said Andrew uncomfortably as soon as he fell into line walking beside Darry again.

"It's okay," replied Darry sincerely, "Who was that anyway?"

"Clarissa, she's in my Spanish class. We talk sometimes and stuff."

"Oh very nice." Andrew gave a small smile but Darry knew that it was false. He could tell that Andrew was uncomfortable with the whole situation and so decided not to press him over the matter.

"Who's picking your brothers up while you go and play soccer? Your parents?"

"Nah, my parents are at work. My friend is and taking them back to my house. He'll sit with them until my parents get back."

"Are you sure thats wise?" asked Andrew uncertainly, "Don't you live in a rough neighborhood?" he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper when he said the last two words, "Are you sure that you can trust him? What if something happens?" Darry almost laughed, it was quite funny to see Andrew so concerned over his brothers welfare.

"Don't worry, nothing will happen to them. I know I can trust him, I have been friends with him for the past two years. Hell he spends so much time round our house that he's almost like my brother. He can handle himself just fine and my brothers always behave for him. He acts their ages most of the time anyway so they get on fine. He'll make sure nothing happens to them."

"Sounds like you and him are pretty close friends. How old is he?"

"We are," smiled Darry, "He's ten." Andrew looked at Darry slightly aghast.

"Your parents are okay with your ten year old friends picking up your brothers from school and sitting in their house while you go and play soccer? Wow my dad would kill me if I ever did that."

"Well they don't know about it yet, but yeah, sure they'll be okay with it." Said Darry off handedly, Andrew's mouth fell open in awed shock.

"Everyone kind of grows up quick in our neighborhood," continued Darry, "You gotta learn to defend yourself young, especially with all the Soc's jumping us all of the time. Were all Greasers see, a lot of the kids by mine carry blades and sometimes even heaters in case it is ever them that gets jumped. Some of them are hoods. Thats just the way things are around by ours. Everyone sticks together though no matter what, were tight." Andrew looked slightly confused and overwhelmed by all of the information that had just been presented to him.

"I've never heard you talk that way before," he said finally.

"No," sighed Darry, "I don't suppose you have, I don't really talk about my neighborhood and home. I spend so much time trying to ignore the fact that I live there that it's kind of hard to open up to people. But you found the confidence to confide something in me not long ago, if you can do it to me than I should be able to return the favor."

"You didn't have to do that you know," said Andrew gravely, not wanting to have pushed Darry into anything that he didn't want to do.

"I know that I didn't but lately thing have been so mixed up. Look at me, I have everything a Middle school kid could ever wish for but still I am not happy. You too, sure we have our problems but look how many people would kill to be us. One thing is certain where I come from and that is that kids like me don't get lucky breaks. It just doesn't happen, but yet here I am. If anything, all of you and especially Mitch should hate me. But you don't, you help me out, hell you even lie for me. Why do you do it?" Andrew was silent for a minute mulling things over in his mind.

"Because your one of us," he finally replied.

"But I'm not," laughed Darry a little hysterically. Why did everyone think he was either one of them or like the group. He lived on the East side they could never be alike, thats how things worked and had done so for many years previous, he did not see any reason why things would change now. No-one truly knew how the Greasers versus Soc's class rivalry had started and no-one questioned it, so it just continued in one vicious circle with out either side winning. He felt sure that even if he had lived on the same side of his friends, that still he would never have been truly like them, there was always something holding him back.

"and neither am I like any of the kids by mine. So who _really _am I?" asked Darry desperately. Andrew was slightly taken aback by Darry's words and his tone of desperation.

"I don't know," he replied nervously, "Your you, yanno?" he paused his brow was furrowed as if he were wrestling with something thought in his head.

"I'm no good at this!" he burst out suddenly, "football, thats me. I'm too dumb to understand anything else. I want to say something to you that will solve everything for you, I really do. But I just don't know anything. I'm sorry Darry but I can't," he turned away from Darry,

"I just can't." Frustrated he kicked a near by pop bottle. It easily sored over the fence of a nearby garden where it smashed. He then walked off.

Darry suddenly realized how selfish he had been, his friends has his own problems, he didn't need to add Darry's worries to them. He didn't know what he had expected to gain from sharing some of his troubles with Andrew, Craig was the deep and understanding one, he had just needed to vent. Andrew had wanted to solve everything for him like any good friend would and when he wasn't able to he had gotten annoyed with himself. Darry quickly ran up to him.

"I'm so sorry Andrew," he said sincerely, laying a hand on his friends shoulder

"It's okay," said Andrew miserably, "I'm sorry too, if you want to talk to someone about it who will understand you, you should go and see Craig. _He_ can help you."

"Andrew..." Darry began gravely, he hated the fact that his friend was beating himself up over something he had caused.

"It doesn't matter," he told Darry firmly, "We best get going or everyone will have gone by the time we get there." Andrew began walking off again, signaling that that was the end of the conversation and that he didn't want to talk about it. Darry slowly followed.

The two walked in silence for a long time, neither knowing what to say to each other. Andrew looked throughly miserable and Darry felt incredibly guilty. He had the feeling that Andrew was more upset about not being able to think of anything to say to reassure him than anything else. Darry decided that he just should of kept his mouth shut and that he would do so in future circumstances.

The 'Old Park' came into sight, there were already about sixteen people there. Just enough to make up two half teams.

"Do you want to come and play? I'm sure Paul wouldn't mind," asked Darry in an attempt to cheer Andrew up. This move however had quite the opposite effect.

"I can't," he answered sullenly, " I have to go to a private tutor because I am too dumb to pass normal school. My dad is paying for them so I can't not go. It wouldn't be fair on him."

Andrew only lived with his father, his mother had died a few hours after he was born. Andrew sometimes blamed himself for it. His father was very supportive though, he was never disappointed in his son. Ha always told Andrew that it was wonderful to have a talent, but it was even better to have a talent and an education.

"Your not dumb Andrew," Darry told him firmly.

"Look I know I'm dumb, hell I'm flunking every class, even the ones I am trying in. My only hope is the game and if I lose that I haven't got anything. I've got one thing going for me and I am going to work damn hard to make sure I succeed at it. I want to show my dad that I can make something of myself."

"And you will, your going to be the best footballer this town has ever seen," said Darry bracingly.

"Thanks," he smiled, "I'm really sorry about before Darry."

"Me too," agreed Darry.

"You alright walking over from here?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. See you tomorrow and thanks."

"Welcome. See you." Darry watched as Andrew walked back down the lane and turned left, until he was out of sight. He knew his friend would be fine again by tomorrow but he hated to see any of his friends down and it was even worse when he knew he was responsible for it. Finally he began walking over the field towards where the group of people were, hoping to find Paul there

Paul was there waiting for Darry, he waved him over. He called to the group of boys that had all come. At once they all turned to look at Paul. Paul, who was slightly smaller than Darry reached up to put an elbow on Darry's shoulder before speaking;

"Listen up all of you, this here is Darrel Curtis, he's captain of Tulsa Community Middle Schools football team, my captain. He's a cracking good player, and he isn't bad at soccer either. So I want you all to make him feel welcome, because if not then you will have me to deal with." Darry noticed that Paul mainly addressed those that had came clad in matching blue shirts.

"Okay I'm sure you all know the drill by now, or I at least hope you do we have done this enough times. Split off into your teams." Paul's command was immediately followed as fifteen of the boys split into two teams. One team of eight and one team of five. The sixteenth member was acting as the referee.

"You'll be playing with me and my team," Paul informed Darry, "Don't worry though everyone's fine, well there are one or two sore losers but they're on the other team."

Darry and Paul went off to join the team of five bringing the numbers up to a much more equal seven versus eight.

Paul introduced Darry to his team;

"These five layabouts are: Micheal, David, John, James and Robert," he pointed to each in turn, they all inclined their heads to Darry as their way of greeting.

"Great bunch of guys and pretty good players too. We always play together." The five boys nodded their agreement.

"Yeah and those great buffoons over there," said Robert waving his hand towards the opposition, "think that because they have got one more player than us that they are going to win." Darry glanced over to the other team, who were the ones wearing the blue tops, they did indeed look rather cocky.

"Never seems to work out that way though, do it?" laughed David.

"Nah, they might have an extra player but we have the better skill," said Paul confidently.

"You ready yet?" asked the gruff opposing team captain.

"Sure thing,"smiled Paul and went to take up his position at the center ring.

"Darry, you join Micheal as striker. Everyone else, normal positions," Paul called to his team.

Darry was used to being the one giving out the orders and he was interested to see how Paul handled the team. He followed Micheal up to the opposite end of the pitch to the goal they were going to be shooting into. Darry looked around at the team; David was in goal for them, James played the midfield, John was left back and Robert was right back, Paul played a center and Captain. Darry took a look at the other team. Their captain had put most of his players on offense, leaving their goal practically wide open. Darry could see already why these guys lost so much.

Paul shook with the other team captain both staring harshly into each others eyes. The guy acting as referee stepped onto the pitch placing the ball in between the two captains, he then retreated back to the sidelines. He blew his whistle and the game began.

Paul immediately took control of the ball, he passed it to Darry, who kicked it to Micheal, who passed it back to Darry again, who booted the ball and scored from 15 meters. Paul's team cheered.

"Paul was right about you," called Micheal to Darry, "You are pretty good."

"Thanks," Darry called back before receiving the ball again.

The game was fast and furious. Paul's teams strategy was unbeatable. Each of his players worked their positions without fault. Darry soon found out that he and Micheal made an unstoppable team, they seemed to both be on the same wavelength and could anticipate what the other was about to do. It was like they had played together all of their lives. Paul couldn't have looked anymore prouder of everyone if he tried.

But while Paul's team were wallowing in their success, the other team were trying more and more reckless moves to try and score a goal, without much avail. Things got dirty when one of the opposing team players went in for a rough tackle when Robert received the ball. The two fell roughly to the ground the opposing players studs sinking deep into Robert's leg. Paul almost blew his top when his player and friend was injured. Darry could feel his own blood boiling slightly, in a real match of soccer that player would have been sent off with a red card. There had been no need for such a dirty tackle. The acting referee called a time out. Robert was helped off the pitch by Paul and John. He had four deep welts in his leg where the studs had penetrated his skin. He insisted that he was fine, but it was obvious that he was in no fit state to play. Paul told him so. Robert was forced to sit the last half out.

With an already short team and now one player down, it was safe to say that Paul's team was at a disadvantage. Darry felt quietly confident though, even with the right side of the goal now left open and vulnerable, he was pretty sure that he and Micheal could sore far more goals than the other team could only dream of. He also had a strong faith and confidence in Paul's Captaincy.

When the end whistle was blown the results stood at three matches too none to Paul's team and thirty-three goals to six. The captains shook hands for the last time to show that there were no hard feelings, before everyone went off to get a drink and rest. Darry however had not brought a drink, only enough money to get him and Two-Bit a milkshake later on. Micheal was the first to notice this, he offered Darry the last half of the bottle of water that he had. Darry accepted it gratefully, thanking Micheal.

"You did good today," said Micheal, " we should play together more often, we make a pretty good team."

"I agree," said Darry, " you didn't do so bad yourself." Micheal returned the smile.

"Are you kidding me?" exclaimed Paul bounding over to them, "you were both brilliant, even with a player down we still whipped them. We have never won by that much before. I really can't thank you two enough," rambled Paul.

"Don't mention it," said Darry, "I enjoyed playing, your a brilliant captain Paul." he said genuinely.

"Thank you," Paul smiled. The three talked for a while discussing the finer points of the game.

James came over to the group looking a little confused.

"Darrel there's some kid with a Mickey Mouse top on asking for you," he said, "Do you know him? Or do you want me to send him away?"

"No it's okay," said Darry quickly, "I know him, I told him to meet me here."

"Oh okay, he's down by there by the goal," said James, pointing to the opposite end of the pitch before walking off again.

"I have to go now," said Darry turning to Paul and Micheal.

"Hey is that the kid who was with you this morning?" Darry nodded, "Tell him I said hi," said Paul.

"Will do. Thanks for inviting me along, I had a great time."

"Your welcome," said Paul, "we'll have to do it again sometime."

"We will. See you both later." Darry called over his shoulder as he began to walk off. He received two 'see yous' in reply. He ran the length of the pitch, shouting his goodbyes to John, James, David and Robert as he went past.

He ran right up behind Two-Bit without him noticing, he would have pounced on him if he had not looked as nervous as he did. Darry guessed that he was a little uncomfortable being this far West so instead he just said; "Hi"

"S'upp," replied Two-Bit visibly relaxing a little, "You ready to go?"

"Indeed I am, there's a chocolate milkshake with my name on it waiting for me at the Dairy Queen." The two boys set off down the road.

"How's Soda and Pony? They ain't been giving you any trouble have they?" asked Darry, quickly reverting back to the neighborhood slang in Two-Bit's company. Boy it was nice to not have to think everything through before saying it in case he used any slang by accident.

"Nah man they were both fine, been as good as gold."

"Good," said Darry wondering how Two-Bit got his brothers to be good for him, but yet when Darry minded them they played up.

"What did my parents say?"

"Take a jacket," replied Two-Bit his face completely straight. Darry nodded before taking in fully what Two-Bit had said.

"What?" he laughed turning towards Two-Bit, who sighed dramatically like the misunderstood genius he was.

"I told them that I had picked up Pony and Soda while you went to play soccer and that I was going to meet you at half four, so they told me to take a jacket."

"Oohh," said Darry understanding now. For the first time since he had met up with Two-Bit he noticed that he was wearing one of his smaller jackets, which still looked slightly too big on Two-Bit.

They entered the Dairy Queen each ordering their favorite flavor of milkshake. Darry paid the cashier and took the two milkshakes. Chocolate for himself and Banana for Two-Bit.

For a while they walked in silence, each enjoying their shakes. Finally Darry decided on something. Two-Bit saw things straight, so maybe he could make sense of the mess that was swirling around in Darrys head.

"Who am I really Two-Bit?" he asked gravely. As soon as he saw Two-Bit cock an eyebrow and a smile playing upon his lips he knew that his friend hadn't taken the question in the serious context it was presented in.

"What? You don't know? God help you if you ever get drunk." Two-Bit laughed, if he had not been so worried as to how to get Two-Bit to take him seriously Darry would have laughed too. That was Two-Bit, couldn't stop making funny remarks to save his life. But there was another side to him, a serious and perceptive one and that was what Darry was trying to appeal too.

They walked in silence for a little bit again. Darry was building up his courage. He needed some advice on what he should do. It was now or never he thought.

"Two-Bit," he began hesitantly, "What would you do if you felt like you were two different people and both of you were being pulled in opposite directions and you didn't know which one was really you but you wanted to be true to yourself?. Also if you had the opportunity to be either a Soc or a Greaser what would you choose? But it was only a once in a lifetime choice and once you had made that choice you could never go back on it." Darry rushed out. Two-Bit looked at his friend sensing that Darry wanted his advice. He forced himself into a serious frame of mind.

"Erm, well. To answer your first question, I would decide which person that I liked best or felt most comfortable with being and if I felt that I was not being true to myself being either person and I wanted to be, then I would start over again and be a completely new person. One that I liked and thought was most true to what I wanted to be. To answer your second question I would choose to be a Greaser, all the way and I wouldn't regret my choice either." His brow furrowed in a slightly confused way, was that how Darry was feeling?

"Why?" asked Darry hesitantly

"Because. It links back to the first thing you asked me, that is who I am most comfortable being. The person I feel who me being is the most true to myself. I am proud to be a Greaser, I might not grease my hair back yet or wear leather jackets but thats me and it always will be me. I would never be a Soc," explained Two-Bit. His expression was torn between concern and wonderment.

"Why are you asking me this?" he asked his friend slowly.

"Because I needed some advice on what to do, and now it looks like I have a lot of thinking to do and some important decisions to make. Ones that could affect the rest of my life."

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**Okay so this chapter was A LOT longer than I expected it to be and I know there are a bunch of characters in this chapter that aren't in the book but they wont be in it all the way through.**

**Any questions related to the story?**

**Like it? Hate it?**

**What did you think?**

**I would just like to say that I know nothing about soccer/football, sorry if that bit sucked. Sorry if you thought the whole story sucked.**

**Any constructive criticism is welcomed.**


	2. Country Trips And Revelations

**Thank you very much to the people who have read my first chapter and taken the trouble to review. :) thank you for all you kind words. This chapter is a little shorter than the first. I do not own The Outsiders**

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Three days had passed. The tension between Darry and Soda still remained. They refused to talk to each other, unless of course they were absolutely forced too, and even then it would only be a low mumble of 'pass the butter' across the breakfast table. The rest of their time was spent ignoring each other, or with one pretending that the other didn't exist.

Darry was still mad, anyone could see that, but he was also hurt and confused, and it was that which was barring him from making up with Soda. He wanted to know exactly why Soda had said those things to him, but most of all, why his little brother had said that he had hated him.

For the first day Soda had tried to apologize, saying that he had been angry and that he had just wanted to get back at Darry, and he hadn't really meant the things that he had said. Darry had had none of it though. He had gotten angry and shouted, to which Soda had shouted back. By now the whole situation had been blown completely out of proportion. Everyone in the house was treading on eggshells, afraid that at any moment the unofficial truce that had been called would once again be shattered. Everyone was on edge and tensions ran high. From this, the idea was born that everyone should get out of the house. Mr. Curtis believed that a change of scenery was just what the family needed, and it might just be the thing that would help his sons settle their differences. Taking them away from what they knew, surly had to get them talking. Out in the country there were no closed doors to hide behind.

So, at precisely 8am sharp, all three brothers were rudely awoken by their father.

"Come on boys. Rise and shine" Mr. Curtis called brightly upon entering the bedroom that his three sons shared, and switching on the light. This was greeted by three groans as the bright light stung his son's eyes.

"We're taking a trip into the country today. Come on, up and dressed. It's a lovely sunny day." Mr. Curtis wrenched open the heavy, dark curtains, allowing the early morning sunshine to seep into the room. All of his sons hid their faces under their covers, shielding their eyes from all the sudden light that was entering the previously dark room. Mr. Curtis chuckled.

"Breakfast will be on the table in ten minutes."

With that he exited the room, pushing the bedroom door wide open so that all the light from the hall flooded into the brothers room as well. He then proceed to bounce happily down the stairs making as much noise as possible and whistling all the way. There was no way his sons would be going back to sleep now.

"Do you know," remarked Mrs. Curtis as her husband entered the kitchen, "Sometimes I think you act more like a kid than any of our sons do"

A further half an hour later saw all five Curtis' sitting down to have breakfast. Darry, Soda and Ponyboy each tucked into slices of toast generously smothered with their favorite toppings. Raspberry Jam for Ponyboy, Peanut-butter for Sodapop and just simply butter for Darry. Each of the brothers had a glass of chocolate milk, no-one in the Curtis household could resist the lure of anything chocolaty. They were like moths drawn to a flame. It was a primal desire.

Darry noticed that the brown wicca basket that they used for all of their pick-nicks was already packed and resting upon the sideboard. Surly his parents could not have done all that this morning? He wondered for just how long his parents had been planning this trip before they had actually thought to tell him, Ponyboy or Soda.

"So," he said in a off-handedly sort of way, "What gave you the idea for taking a trip into the country? Today?"

"Oh, it was just a spur of the moment decision really," said Mr. Curtis just as off-handedly.

"I see," replied Darry, trying his up-most and failing, not to sound skeptical. He tucked into his second slice of toast, true his father did make wild, crazy, spur of the moment decisions, but his mother never usually went along with them. He didn't see why she would this time either.

Mr. Curtis almost chuckled, he could see that is eldest son was not going to be fobbed off with lame excuses. Mrs. Curtis took over.

"You father and I thought it would be a nice idea for us all to get out and do something as a family. We know that it is not fair on you boys that we have to work all of the time, so we thought that it would be good for us all to have a day out. Together"

Darry frowned, but quickly changed his expression wen he realized he was doing it. Perhaps at any other time he would have liked a trip out to the country, enjoyed it even. Although he did think that he was getting a tad to old for these family days out, none of his friends went out on days out with _their_ parents anymore. But with things as they stood, he really didn't think that he could bare spending a whole day with his family. Especially with Sodapop.

Mr. Curtis however caught his sons frown.

"What?" he asked, "are you mother and I not – what was the word darling – rough, gruff. No, erm-"

"Tuff?" asked Mrs. Curtis sweetly.

"Thats the one. Tuff. Are you mum and me not tuff enough to be seen with you? Huh, Darrel?" Mr. Curtis teased, giving his eldest son a playful punch in the arm.

Darry shook his head smiling slightly, disagreeing with both his fathers question and his parents attempted use of the neighborhood slang.

"No. It's not that," he answered smiling, "It's just that I was planning on going back down to the Old Park again today to play soccer with Paul and his team. Also, we've got a really big match coming up in school and I wanted to do some training to make sure I'm on top form for the game, and -"

Soda's knife that he had used to spread the Peanut-butter onto his toast, clattered loudly to the floor.

"Sodapop," complained Mrs. Curtis at the noise, "do try and be more careful." Soda nodded before disappearing under the table to retrieve the knife. Darry glared at his little brother when he re-emerged. He did not know if Soda had dropped the knife purposely out of his exasperation for Darry, or if he had just merely knocked it off by accident and it had just happened to have coincidently been while Darry had been speaking. He was more than willing to bet though, that it was the first option.

Soda glared back at Darry. Ponyboy glared at both of his brothers for glaring at each other, he was so sick of his brothers argument. His head moved back and forth so often from the two that it looked like he was watching an invisible ping-pong match.

"Everyone done with breakfast?" asked Mrs. Curtis a little louder than need be, as she started to clear the table of all the dirty plates, crockery clinking as she piled them into the sink. She did not want an argument to break out between her sons _yet again._

"Darry," commanded Mr. Curtis unusually firmly, "come and help me load up the car would you." He was already half way out of the door before Darry even had a chance to answer.

"okay," he muttered, tearing his eyes off his brother.

"Pepsi-Cola, Ponyboy. You two help your mother with the washing up and then come and meet us in the car when you are ready." With that he was gone. Darry grabbed the wicca pick-nick basket and followed his father outside.

Mr. Curtis leaned lazily back against the small, red family car. Darry approached him nervously, his father looked sad. Mr. Curtis never shouted at his sons, he would just look disappointed and tell them that he had expected better from them. It was Mrs. Curtis that did the shouting. His mothers shouting Darry could handle, just about. But his fathers disappointment, that hurt. It cut deeper into him than anything else.

When his father didn't speak, Darry went over to the boot and put the pick-nick basket in. The boot slammed shut a little harder then Darry had intended and the whole car shuddered from the force.

"We'll have to get a new one soon," said Mr. Curtis surveying the old, rusty and dilapidated car fondly.

"We've had this one since you were six. Do you remember Darry? You helped me pick it out."

"Yeah," said Darry, smiling fondly at the memory, "I remember." He had been not much higher than his fathers waist when they had picked out that car. It had been a real father and son day out, Soda had only been about two at the time so he had been to young to come along. And his mother had been heavily pregnant with Ponyboy at the time.

"Perhaps you would like to come with me again this time, _all_ of you." Darry's smile had been wiped right off his face. No, he just couldn't see that happening.

"Soda will go with you," he mumbled staring intently at the floor to avoid having to meet his fathers eyes, "he likes cars."

Mr. Curtis gently reached out and cupped a hand under his sons chin and slowly tilted his head up, forcing Darry eyes to meet with his own.

"Listen to me," said Mr. Curtis gravely, "I don't know what's gone on between you and Soda, and I am not going to force either one of you to tell me. But what is do know is, this feud that you're having, is doing no-one any good. I haven't seen you look so unhappy in a long time Darry, and Pepsi-Cola looks thourly miserable. Me, your mother and Pony are all afraid to say anything in case it sets you two off again. It's not an easy thing to have to do as a father, watch your sons fight like you two have these past few days. Your brothers not enemies."

Darry looked deep into his fathers eyes, they were almost pleading. That slight watery glisten they held reflected in his own eyes.

Without warning his fathers arms encircled him and held him close. He hugged his father back. Darry let a single, silent tear fall before whispering;

"I'm sorry dad." His father just held him closer, and Darry was almost sure that he felt a solitary tear fall upon his shoulder.

The two only broke apart when Ponyboy's high voice announced joyfully;

"We're ready," before he ran to his fathers side, smiling up at his older brother. Darry returned the smile, happy to see that Pony was no longer angry with him being angry at Soda and vice versa.

"Right then," said Mr. Curtis getting into the drivers seat, "Darry, will you strap your brother in for me please?" Darry nodded before allowing Ponyboy to happily leap into his arms.

"Sorry Pony, your in the middle," he informed his littlest brother. He chuckled at Ponyboy's frown.

The small, red Ford pulled out of the driveway. Mr. Curtis began to whistle a happy and bouncy tune as he drove. Darry laughed, his dad just exhubarated happiness, he could make just about anyone smile, just by being himself. Soda was the same, or at least they used to be anyway. Soda and dad both shared the same eyes, maybe, he thought, that meant that they both saw the world the same way.

He watched as Ponyboy attempted to whistle just like his dad. Instead he just looked like he was trying to blow out a birthday candle. Darry noted that he was doing it to fast, he decided that one day he would show Pony how to whistle properly. Just like a big brother aught to.

Finally having had enough of her husbands whistling, Mrs. Curtis turned on the radio. But Mr. Curtis only proceeded to sing loudly and very off key as soon as a song he knew came on.

"_You ain't nothin' but a hound dog cryin' all the time. Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit and you ain't no friend of mine." _

Everybody on the East side liked Elvis, they thought he was tuff. Just like everybody on the West side dug the Beatles. Darry thought that the Beatles were rank, so did Ponyboy and Soda too, but he wasn't sure if that was really their own opinions, or if they were just copying him.

"Anyone want some sweets?" asked Mr. Curtis, holding the bag out behind him, but not taking his eyes off the road. Soda brightened immediately at the mention of something sugary. But when Darry, who was sitting directly behind his father reached out and took the bag, his face once again fell. Darry saw this.

With a prang he realized that his little brother was not angry with him as he had thought, or even hated him. Soda was, as his father had said; thourly miserable. Darry felt his own anger ebb away, replaced with an empty kind of sadness. How could he have been so horrible? Soda had tried to apologize, but he had listened? No sirree, bub, he had not, just shouted. He always shouted, he hadn't realized until this moment, just how much he had been horrible to his brothers and shouted at them. To be perfectly honest he was amazed, and at the same time a little ashamed that one of his brothers had not told him before now that they had hated him.

Darry felt like bawling, he really did. How had he become such a despicable person to the people that mean the most to him? He had to put it right.

Once Ponyboy had taken a handful of the hard boiled sweets, Darry sifted through the packet picking out all of the red ones; which Soda liked best. He then extended his hand baring the sweets, and offered them to Soda, saying hesitantly;

"Here. They're your favorites." For a moment, it looked like Soda was going to refuse, but then he uncertainly reached out and took the sweets from Darry. The brothers eyes met for a moment, icily

blue against lively dark brown, until Soda quickly looked away.

"Thanks," he mumbled, a little surprised. While keeping his eyes firmly cast down.

"Welcome."

By now, they were out of the main town and just on the outskirts of the countryside.

"Look," called Ponyboy excitedly pointing out of Soda's window,

"Cow's." Darry turned to look, it was only then that he realized that Soda's window was shut. This struck him as a little odd, Soda loved to travel with the window completely down and his head almost sticking out of the car. He said that he liked the feeling of the wind whipping back his hair. But not today. Darry also noticed that his own window was shut tight too, as was his fathers. He guessed that no one really felt like it today.

"Why are they all lying down?" asked Ponyboy persistently.

"That usually means that it is going to rain," Mr. Curtis answered his son. Mrs. Curtis gave a slight laugh.

"Or, that they re just lazy," she countered

"Or that," agreed Mr. Curtis. Darry laughed, but Ponyboy however looked confused, like he had been left out of a joke or something.

"Darry, check and see if it's still sunny for me, you too Soda." Both of the brothers looked out of their windows and up at the sky, before reassuring their younger brother that it was indeed still sunny.

As they traveled further down the motorway, fields containing livestock became an increasingly more often sight. One field in particular caught Soda's eye. It contained two dapple-gray stallions. Darry could see Soda looking longingly at the horses. He remembered not long ago Soda asking if he could go riding. Mum and dad had said no and dismissed it as a fad that would soon pass. Darry however was not so sure. Saying that they could not afford to pay for something that Soda wasn't going to take seriously and get bored of doing after a couple of weeks. Soda swore he wouldn't, but mum and dad has still refused, for the moment anyway.

They had been traveling for a good half an hour now, and any novelty of driving into the country, had well and truly worn off.

Soda was bored and fidgety, he could not it still for prolonged periods of time. Ponyboy was bored and beginning to get on his mothers nerves by asking every ten minutes when they were going to get there. And Darry, well, he was just plain bored. The radio had stopped playing tuff Elvis songs and had instead switched to olden day songs that no one had ever heard of, and, top it all off, it had started raining. Only a fine rain, but still enough to dampen the ground and anyone unlucky enough to be caught out in it.

"Don't worry," reassured Mr. Curtis, Once we get out from under this cloud it will be sunny again. Just you wait and see." No-one else however was quite as optimistic. Darry thought that it was all very metaphorical. It would be safe to say that it had felt like a dark cloud had hung over the Curtis household these past few days, and now a miserable, churning, gray cloud actually did hang over them.

About three quarters of the way through the journey, Ponyboy decided to curl up and sleep, with his head resting upon Darry's lap. From where Darry sat this didn't look very comfortable at all, especially since the seatbelt was rubbing harshly against Ponyboy's neck. As soon as the car slowed down a little, Darry undone Ponyboy's seatbelt and pulled his youngest brother onto his knee, placing Pony's head against his chest. He allowed the younger boy to snuggle up to him, before replacing the his own seatbelt so that it covered the both of them. He glanced over at Soda, he too appeared to be asleep with his head resting against the door, just below the window. Darry too felt sleep tugging at him. After all it was only about ten in the morning and most people would just be getting up now. He wrapped his arms securely around Ponyboy and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to claim him.

"Darry, honey. Wake up. Were here," slowly Darry opened his eyes. The first thing that struck him, was how bright it was and it took him a few seconds for everything to come flooding back to him. The sun was back out again, just like his dad had said it would be. Mrs. Curtis delicately pushed Darry's hair aside before kissing her eldest sons forehead. She then turned her attention to the youngest.

"Rise and shine sweetie," she coaxed Ponyboy, he groaned a little and buried his head into Darry's chest.

"Come on sleepyhead," she persisted. Finally Ponyboy allowed himself to be lifted from the car. Darry rubbed his legs where they had gone numb, and watched as his father tried to persuade a sleepy Sodapop to get out too.

Finally, all three boys stood blinking in the bright sunlight, their feet on lush green grass, surrounded by trees and wild shrubs. It was only now that they stood together that you could really see how each brother differed from their siblings. Darry, as the oldest stood tallest, being just over the average height for his age. Soda stood a good head and shoulders smaller than his brother, being slightly smaller than average for his age. And Ponyboy stood a head, shoulders and half a forearm below Soda, being rather small himself. Darry was well proportioned and toned, his arms already showing a little bulge from his built biceps. He once again wore his red and white football team jacket, he liked everyone to know that he was part of something, he would even go as far as to say that he was proud of that simple jacket displaying his schools emblem.

Sodapop was small and a little skinny compared to Darry. Everything from his plain carque vest-top, that was a little to big for him and hung loosely off his shoulders. Right down to his scuffed tennis shoes suggested that he was lively, daring and a little reckless. His arms and legs were mottled with bruises, ranging from deep purplish blue ones, that looked like they had only just happened, to pale brown and fading ones. Soda was always off doing something dangerous.

Ponyboy was small and very skinny, to look at he was almost too skinny. Though he ate as much as anyone else his age, he just didn't put on any weight. Their mother would fret over it every now and again, but one smile from Ponyboy assured her that everything was fine. Ponyboy was rather quiet and no-one ever really knew what he was thinking. He liked reading more than anyone else in the Curtis household, despite the fact that he could only read a few words and had to ask the people around him to read him the others.

Darry took in the scene around him, for miles around all he could see was green and growing. His father had parked the car underneath some shading from a near by group of trees. There was a large hill about fifteen meters high just to the right. To the left stretched fields all separated from each other by roughly constructed stone walls. Each bit of land was of a different colour, ranging from the lush greenness of grass, to the ripe golden yellow of straw.

Straight ahead the land spread for as far as the eye could see, if you looked out towards the horizon you could make out the shapes of distant hills, dark against the pale blue sky. The fragrance of flowers, leaves and shrubs was very strong, but if you inhaled deeply enough, you could just about make out the slight pong of manure from distant farms being carried on the breeze. All the smells of the great outdoors. The air tasted so much sweeter out in the country than it did back in the city. There stood a large forest behind the hill that spanned for acres. If you listened long enough and hard enough, past all of the merry chirping of the birds and various other animal noises. You could just make out the tinkling of a river, although there was no water in sight. It was an overwhelming site, all so vast and unspoilt.

"Well this looks about as good a place as any to have a pick-nick," said Mr. Curtis looking around contentedly.

"How about we all head for the hill?"

"Yeeaaah," said Ponyboy and Soda enthusiastically. The three boys left their parents to unload the car. Soda raced off looking for the steepest and most dangerous place of the hill where he could climb up, completely ignoring the stone steps that had been built into the side of the thing. Darry stayed with Ponyboy, looking for a place where they could climb up that wouldn't be to difficult. Darry stayed behind his little brother all the way, offering a helping hand when he needed one, and catching him when he lost his footing. Soda was already there when they reached the top, supporting a new and freely bleeding jagged scratch on his forearm. Darry guessed that a sharp edge of a rock must have caught him on his climb. Soda did not seem bothered in any way by it though.

"You okay?" Darry asked uncomfortably, while looking at the scratch. Soda looked up and then looked back down again before mumbling;

"I'm fine, just a scratch." Perhaps at any other time Darry would have insisted up inspecting the scratch, or at the least pressured Soda to wash it. But not this time, this time he just said;

"Okay Sodapop." Ponyboy decided that kissing Soda's arm would make it better, so he proceeded to do so. Afterwards Soda told him that it did indeed fell much better, and thanked him. Then came the uncomfortable silence.

Darry turned to watch his parents, to avoid having to sit in silence with his brothers. His mum and dad were smiling and holding hands, for all the world they looked like they had just graduated high school and were out on their first trip into the county together. They didn't look old enough to have one child, let alone three. He had never thought about how young his parents looked before, back home they still looked young, but not like they were only just out of high school. But out in the country, with his dad in a tight white top and his mum in a flowery summer dress, they just looked like teenagers. Weather it had anything to do with the height and distance he was away from them, Darry didn't know. Right now though, he was sure that his father could almost pass for his older brother, much rather than his dad.

Finally Mr and Mrs. Curtis emerged atop of the hill, both their arms laden with baskets which they set down upon the grass. They looked round at their sons, rather disbelievingly. There appeared to be no signs that an argument had broken out, which in it's self was a novelty. For the past three days all that was needed to spark off an argument between them was for Darry and Soda to be in the same room for a second together. That made the fact that they had both sat there for about five minutes together and not argued, all the more unbelievable. Mr. Curtis smiled proudly, perhaps he had been right after all.

Mr. Curtis, Mrs. Curtis and Darry, with 'help' from Ponyboy and Soda laid out the big, read and white checked blanket on the floor.

"It matches you jacket Darry," announced Ponyboy happily. Darry looked from the blanket to his own red and white jacket.

"I suppose it does," he laughed. Ponyboy always pointed out the most random, but yet true things.

"Who's up for a game of soccer?" asked Mr. Curtis merrily, rooting around in the second basket, finally producing a rounded ball.

"Darry?"

"Sure," grinned Darry.

"Can I play too?" pleaded Ponyboy, his gray green eyes twinkling at the prospect of playing with his dad and oldest brother.

"Sure," said Darry, seeing no reason why not, "You can be on my side and we'll whip dad." Ponyboy grinned happily.

"Good luck with that boys, but in case you have forgotten, I have the ball." Mr. Curtis took off down the stone steps that were built into the side of the hill with Darry and Ponyboy chasing after him.

Soda watched them go, sighing.

"Why don't you go and play too Soda, honey?" asked Mrs. Curtis, regarding her son slightly concerned. Soda shook his head, fiddling with the tassels at the edge of the blanket.

"Don't you want to?" Again he shook his head. Mrs. Curtis sighed, she hated to see her usually happy-go-lucky son looking so sad.

"Tell you what," she said picking up the wicca pick-nick basket and sitting down next to Soda.

"Since there's only the two of us, how about we have a little treat?" Soda brightened a little at the mention of a treat. Mrs. Curtis pulled out two plates, handing one to Soda and keeping the other for herself. Then to Soda's sheer joy, she pulled out one of the largest chocolate cakes he had ever remembered her to bake. She cut a large piece for her son and a slightly smaller one for herself. Wasting no time, they both dug in, relishing the rich chocolaty taste that was dancing upon their taste-buds.

"Thanks mum," said Soda gratefully.

"Your welcome honey," she replied, happy to see that her son had cheered up slightly.

"Just don't tell your father or brothers, otherwise there wont be any cake left for the pick-nick." They both laughed.

Mr. Curtis, Darry and Ponyboy had established a rough pitch, about a tenth of the size of a real one, with no other markings than then of a large rock to represent the center circle, and four coats -two at either end of the 'pitch'- to represent goal posts. The rules were simple, the first team to score five goals wins. Darry and Ponyboy lead with four goals to their fathers three.

Darry steered the ball towards his dads goal, but he was intercepted halfway down. Mr. Curtis took control of the ball, he shot it, and scored. He cheered in celebration, running around. He picked up Ponyboy, swung him round a few times before placing him back down and cheering some more. Darry laughed at his father.

Once Ponyboy had his feet set firmly back on the ground, he ran back over to Darry. His older brother bent down so that the two of them were on the same level, and said;

"Right Pony, this ones all you. Ready?" Ponyboy nodded excitedly, he wanted to show Darry just what he could do.

"Good. Here's how it works. I'll gain possession of the ball and pass it to you, then, all you have to do is get it down the pitch and into dad's goal. If you do that Pony, then we have won. I'll hold dad back. You got that?"

"Yeah, I got it," he said, while nodding enthusiastically.

"Okay, lets go"

Mr. Curtis had the ball. Darry went in to tackle him, but his dad blocked him. Obviously giving his son a challenge and seeing just what he was made of. Darry once again tried to tackle him, this time from a different angle, but he was blocked a second time. Darry sped up and tackled from the front, this time success, he kicked it out of his fathers possession. He sprinted after it and kicked it to Ponyboy.

Ponyboy dived on the ball to stop it moving, then he got up, picked up the ball and raced down to the opposing goal.

"Ponyboy," called Mr. Curtis through his laughter,

"Your meant to _kick_ the ball." Ponyboy paid no attention to him and carried on running, he was going to win the game. Him and Darry together, his dad was just trying to distract him and make him loose.

He ran through the two coats that represented the goal posts, and only then did he place the ball on the ground and kick it.

"Goal!" he shouted, jumping up and down in celebration,

"We win Darry!"

"We do indeed," laughed Darry. It looked like Ponyboy had gotten confused between soccer and football, and remembering the rules for neither had just made up his own.

"Ponyboy Curtis, you little cheater," said Mr. Curtis walking over grandly, while trying to keep the smile off his face. Darry came to his little brothers rescue.

"Technically dad, he ain't. The only rule that there was was that the first team to score five goals are the winners. You didn't say anything about not being able to run with the ball, you didn't even say that you had to kick the ball. But once it passes the coats on either end , it still counts as a goal. So we won, and I think you'll find fare and squarely." Darry had spotted all of his dads loopholes and slithered through them like a snake in the grass.

Mr. Curtis threw up his hands towards the sky in mock exasperation.

"Twelve year olds," he said shaking his head.

"Whats the matter dad? Can't take it because I am more cunning than you?" Darry teased, giving his dad a small poke in the side for good measure.

"Oh like that is it, eh?" said Mr. Curtis with a small laugh, returning his sons poke. Darry laughed, covering his side with his hands. The moment he was caught off guard , Mr. Curtis bent down, picked up his eldest son and slung him over his shoulder.

"More cunning you may be, my son. But, I'm -" he puffed out his chest proudly,

"Taller." Ponyboy who had been watching his father and brother amusedly, giggled.

"What are you laughing at?" asked Mr. Curtis. He scooped up his youngest son and slung him over his other shoulder.

"I don't know," he declared before walking off. Whistling loudly down his sons ears.

"Lets go and get something to eat kids, I'm hungry."

"Will there be cake?" asked Ponyboy hopefully, from his left left shoulder.

"Mmm, I certainly hope so" said Darry – from his right – his mouth salivating at the very thought. Mr. Curtis burst out laughing and was forced to swiftly put both of his sons down before he dropped them. Ponyboy and Darry looked up at their father confused, not seeing what was so funny.

"You two sounded like my conscience or something." He said as soon as he had stopped laughing. Their confused expressions deepened.

"Never mind," he said waving his hand, "I don't rightly know if theres chocolate cake. Your mother packed the basket see, but I should imagine so. Lets not dawdle back." The three hurried off towards the hill.

"Were back," called Mr. Curtis as he reached the top of the hill, closely followed by Darry and Ponyboy.

"Good. We can eat now, Soda and I were getting rather hungry," replied Mrs. Curtis. Ponyboy happily bounded over to Soda and placed himself firmly onto his middle brothers knee, making it clear that he was not going to move for anybody. Soda wrapped his arms around his little brother.

"What have you been up to?" he asked. Ponyboy quickly, and in as much detail as a six year old could give, filled Soda in on everything that he had missed. The last thing he wanted was for Soda to feel left out.

"Cheat," laughed Soda. Ponyboy just pouted at him with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. But he was not really cross with Soda, no one could really be cross with Soda – at least for not to long anyway. Perhaps with the possible exception of Darry though.

"What are you cheats talking about?" asked Mr. Curtis, while laying out all of the food, "Planning your next big schemes?"

"I don't cheat," Soda defended himself.

"Pepsi-Cola, you always cheat, especially when we all play cards."

"I do not."

Of course not, thought Darry. Just like that time Soda _hadn't _cheated when they had played chase the ace. He had been unlucky enough to choose the ace, and when he thought no one was looking he had stuck it up his sleeve. He had ended up loosing that game anyway because dad had fond the missing card on him.

Finally all the food was laid out, with the exception of one particular treat. There were sandwiches; jam, chicken, ham and cheese. Crisps; cheese and onion, salt and vinegar and ready salted. And fruit; a selection of everyones favorites. It all looked delicious. Without further ado, they each grabbed a plate and ladened it with whatever struck their fancy. Ponyboy made a beeline straight for the jam sandwiches, he really couldn't get enough of the stuff. Darry took a chicken one and Soda ham.

All five of them ate in silence for a while until Mr. Curtis asked;

"So, Sodapop. What do _you_ want to do?" Soda shrugged.

"Come on, there must be something," persisted Mr. Curtis before laughing slightly, "There always is." Soda finished the last bit of his sandwich, considering how good an idea it was to tell his parents what he wanted to do, he new exactly how they would react, his mother especially. Finally he answered;

"I want to go into the forest." Mrs. Curtis almost chocked on the lemonade she was drinking - just as Soda had expected.

"The Forest," she repeated her sons words. Soda nodded.

"Hmm," said Mr. Curtis thoughtfully, "Why do you want to go in there, Pepsi-Cola?" Soda took a handful of grapes frowning. He didn't see why everyone was questioning him so much. He only wanted to go an explore, it was not like he was going to be causing any trouble. He tossed one up into the air and caught it in his mouth.

"Can I come Soda?" asked Ponyboy looking up at his brother pleadingly.

"Sure Pony," smiled Soda, happy to see that not everyone was so against what he wanted to do.

"No, absolutely not Soda," said Mrs. Curtis firmly, "I'm not having you take your brother into a forest where we can't see him and anything could happen to him."

"Please mum,only to explore, we'll stay close to the edge where you can see us, and we'll be _really_ careful" begged Soda.

"I'm sorry Soda, but my answer is still no. Your not old enough to be able to keep your eyes on Ponyboy all of the time. It's not that I don't trust you, either of you," she looked between her sons, "It's just that you're both not responsible enough to go off on your own yet," she explained, "I'm sorry, but thats my final answer."

Soda and Ponyboy sighed miserably, it just wasn't fair. Why should age determine what they could or couldn't do? Darry could see the disappointment written all over their young faces. He thought that Soda deserved to do something that he wanted to do, especially since Darry himself had been rather a jerk to him for the last part of the week and made him feel miserable. He took a deep breath, bracing himself.

"Mum, Dad," he said, "What if I went with them?" Everyone turned to look at Darry, Soda included albeit a little confusedly. His parents still looked a little unsure but less so than they had. Darry continued;

"I'll keep an eye on them both, you know I will. Come on, we'll stay close to the edge and stick together," Darry told his parents. His father looked pretty much convinced, and kind of proud of his eldest son to. His mother however still looked unconvinced, slightly. Darry knew though that now he had his father on his side then the debate was won. He just had to wait for his dad to work his magic.

"Come on, honey," he said to his wife, his voice low and persuasive.

"Whats the worst that could happen?"

"I'm trying not to think of that," she sighed. But her resistance was crumbling.

"Pleeaase," begged all of the four male Curtis' simultaneously. Each with identical puppy dog eyes. Mrs. Curtis had to laugh at them. Men, she thought, shaking her head. Finally she succumbed to her boy's pleas.

"Okay," she relented, "But be careful," she told them sternly.

"Thanks," said Soda quietly, turning to Darry. For the first time in the last three days and perhaps even before that, Soda looked up and met his eyes firmly with Darrys;

"But you didn't have to do that, yanno." Darry just smiled and said;

"I know, little buddy."

Once everyone had eaten their fill of the pick-nick, Mrs. Curtis pulled out from the very bottom of the basket, the richly dark chocolate cake. Suddenly everyone realized that they weren't as full as they had first thought and could just about manage to squeeze in a slice of cake. Even just the aroma of the delicacy sent their stomachs shouting for more. She laughed at the for looks of desire that the cake gained.

"I take it then that you all have a little room left for this then," she said, receiving four enthusiastic nods of confirmation.

She cut each of her boy's a generous slice. Not a crumb was left, and when they were all finished Mrs. Curtis was sure that the plates were now cleaner than they had been when they had first come out of the dishwasher. She watched as Ponyboy traced his finger all around the spotless plate, determined to get every last little bit of chocolate.

After being forced to sit for a further ten minutes to let their food go down by their mother, the three of the finally set off.

Soda walked in front while Darry and Ponyboy brought up the rear. Their parents watched them go, until their view was obscured by the trees and they could no longer see their sons.

The forest was indeed vast. Entering it was like stepping into another world. A land unspoilt and not ravaged by man and fighting, a land where few ever ventured. The trees on the outskirts were young, scarcely more than twenty years old, their bark soft and supple – they were spread very widely apart from each other. Further in however the true age of the forest became more apparent, humongous trees grew their, undisturbed, like they had done for centuries before. Their roots running deep underground like life saving webs, and their branches twisting and intertwining overhead to form a canopy above the forest.

The forest floor was littered with thousands of years worth of fallen leaves, some still crunched underfoot. No doubt from last fall, but for the most part they just provided a rather cushioned surface to walk on. But, as Ponyboy soon found out, after tripping over a protruding tree root, they also concealed hidden dangers too. The forest was noisy, all around were sounds of life, from the birds up in the trees and the animals scurrying around on the ground, to the insects all around. All the different aromas from the many and varied species of tree all merged together to form a unique smell, found no where else.

Darry found three good sized, sturdy branches that could be used for walking sticks, laying on the floor. After pulling off all the small bits of growth, he handed them out to his little brothers. They were just about the right size for each.

"You can test the ground with these before walking on it," he explained.

"That way you wont trip and you can use it to steady yourself when you cross uneven ground. Some of the greatest explorers in the world carry with them a humble tree branch." Soda and Ponyboy exchanged a skeptical look but accepted the sticks gladly.

For a while the three of them walked round in no particular direction, with no set destination. It was nice just to walk, taking in the sights and surroundings of the place. Back home their weren't really any forests – at the most a small cluster of trees, and even that was rare, especially for them all to be still standing – so it was rather a novel experience for them.

Darry looked up at the distant tree tops, far above his head. He wondered just how tall these trees were. Suddenly something caught his attention in one of the lower branches. Something had moved, he had saw it. He craned his neck to get a better look, but whatever it was had disappeared round the other side of the branch, bushy tail bobbing behind it. Darry sped up, desperate to catch a glimpse of the animal.

There it was, a small, bushy tailed, bright eyed squirrel. Busy collecting nuts and acorns in preparation for the long winter ahead. Darry was taken aback, he had never seen a real life squirrel before. He reached out and gently tapped Ponyboy – who was walking next to him – on the shoulder.

"Look," said Darry, crouching down to Ponyboys level and pointing up into the trees. Ponyboy followed Darry's finger to where it was pointing, and gasped.

"Wow, Darry what is it?" Darry looked at him surprised, Ponyboy didn't know what a squirrel was?

"It's a squirrel Pony, you know what a squirrel is, don't you?" To Darry's relief, he nodded.

"I know what one is, but I just never seed one before," he explained to his big brother.

"Me either Pony," whispered Darry. The two watched in silence as the squirrel scurried along the branch, back and forth from it's drey .

"Darry?" Ponyboy asked, "Do you think it is a mummy squirrel or a daddy squirrel?"

"Neither Pony. It's only a baby squirrel. A bit like you." Ponyboy's brow furrowed and he pouted a little.

"I'm not a squirrel," he told Darry.

"No," laughed Darry.

"I know your not, but your the baby of the family, just like that little squirrel is the baby of it's family."

"Oh," he said understanding now. Heavy footfalls announced Soda's return from where ever he had wandered off too.

"What are you looking at?" he called loudly to them.

"Shhh," Darry shushed him, bringing a finger to his lips and motioning for Soda to come over.

Soda hesitated for more than a minute before finally walking slowly and purposely over to Darry. He stood next to his brothers looking up at where Darry was pointing, he couldn't see anything.

"Theres nothing there," he told them. Was this some kind of wind up? Darry and Ponyboy looked hard, Soda was right; the squirrel had gone.

"Is gone," said Ponboy sadly.

"Whats gone?" he asked slightly annoyed by his brothers complete lack of explanation to him.

"The squirrel," replied Ponyboy.

"There was a squirrel?". Darry explained;

"Yeah, there was a little gray squirrel. It was running back and forth along the branch, hiding food for the winter."

"I didn't see," said Soda disappointedly.

"Don't worry Sodapop," said Darry, "I'll find you another one."

They walked further on, deeper into the forest.

"Listen," said Soda suddenly, "I can here water." Darry and Ponyboy listened intently, they could hear the soft sploshing of a running stream, by the sounds of it not to far away either.

"Can we go and see?" asked Ponyboy excitedly. Darry looked uncertainly around them, they were really rather deep into the forest now, a lot deeper than they had promised their parents that they would go. It felt wrong to be going against their wishes, almost like a betrayal of their trust for him.

"Please," begged Soda,

"just to the stream and then we can start heading back." Darry looked at both of his brothers. What could go wrong? He conceded.

"Fine, but no further than the stream." he told them sternly and with an air or finality.

They turned and headed in a general right, easterly direction. All the while following the sound of the flowing water which grew steadily louder and louder. Finally the trees cleared and they were able to see the stream.

Just to the right of them, the forest floor sloped dangerously steeply downwards. It was down this slope that the stream was running. On the small spit of level ground that the brothers stood upon, there was a dip in the earth where all of the water that flowed from above was collecting, before it flowed back down the slope again. The large pool of water looked pretty deep. Darry placed his stick into the water, and it was immediately, completely swallowed by the sheer volume of the pool. He quickly retracted his hand, leaving his stick to sink to the bottom.

The flat top of rocks just protruded above the surface of the water, for the most part though the rest of them were hidden by the slightly brown, murky water. They seemed to be stepping stones that lead across to the others side. It was too dangerous to cross up above and below the pool, so the stepping stones appeared to be the only way to gain crossing.

Without a second of hesitation, while not battering an eye, Soda jumped for the first stone. He cleared the small distance easily, landing expertly on the first rock near the edge of the pool.

"Come on," he called to his brothers, "It's easy." As if to demonstrate just how easy it was, he jumped again to the second stone with as much ease and skill as pro, as if he had been doing it all his life.

"Can we Darry?" asked Ponyboy pleadingly of his oldest brother. Darry weighed up the situation, this really wasn't a good idea. He could just see it all going drastically wrong, ending up with either Ponyboy or Soda falling into the water, most likely Ponyboy. But really what could he do? Soda was already half way across and Ponyboy was intent on following him. Reluctantly Darry had to give in.

"Be careful," he warned as he lifted Ponyboy out onto the first stone. The stones were only big enough to fit one person on at a time, so no matter if Darry had gone before Ponyboy instead of behind him, he still wouldn't be able to help Pony out anymore than he could now. Soda was the adventurous, daring one out of them, Ponyboy was the more dreamy, intellectual type. Some of the things that he came out with were surprising for a six year old, he knew his stuff already.

Uncertainly Ponyboy jumped for the second stone, he landed rather haphazardly on it, his foot slipping into the water for a second before he pulled it quickly back out. Darry followed, staying right behind Pony.

"The last ones hard," Soda called, "You gotta do a big jump." Glory, thought Darry, if Soda was admitting that something was had then it must be damn near impossible. He shook his head, what did his brothers get themselves into, and himself to. What did they get _him_ into.

"Oh Soda," he sighed disparagingly, half amused by the situation and half annoyed. Soda just grinned from the safety of the other side of the pool.

Soda had not been kidding when he had said that the last jump was hard, the distance between the final stone and the other side of the pool was considerably large. Darry was almost sure that he could make it without to much of a problem, after all he had gotten the second best distance in the long jump at school. But it was Ponyboy that worried him. If Soda – the greatest adventurer of them all – had only just cleared the jump, then he didn't know how Ponyboy possibly could. He was having enough trouble with the small jumps. His little legs weren't the best for this kind of thing and he didn't have the greatest balance either. He couldn't really judge the distance between the stones properly and Darry had lost count the amount of times his feet had slipped into the water, but still he kept on going.

When Ponyboy leaped onto the final stone, he took one look at the jump ahead of him, and stopped dead, staring. He knew there was absolutely no way that he could make it. He looked helplessly back at Darry and then at Soda. He was stuck.

Darry thought that maybe if he could get Ponyboy to jump back to him so that he was in Darry's arms then perhaps he could clear the jump for both of them. But Pony looked unable to move at all, never mind jump into Darry's arms.

Soda took action. He knew Ponyboy would listen to him, he always did. Hesitantly he stuck his foot into the water testing it, it wasn't that deep this side, he could feel the bottom of the pool and the water only came up to his lower ankle. Quickly Soda waded out into the water so that it came up to just past his knees. About a third of the way between Ponyboy and the edge of the pool.

"Pony!" he called out, "Pony listen to me." Ponyboy did, not taking his eyes off Soda for a minute.

"Thats it," Soda reassured him, "You can do this Pony, I know you can. Jump into my arms and I'll get you out."

"I can't," he wailed, "it's too far." Soda took another three steps forward, the the water now engulfed him around his waist. He was in pretty deep now, maybe just under halfway between Ponboy and the edge of the pool. He could feel his heart pumping, it was a weird feeling breathing with water lapping around your waist, almost like you couldn't breath properly. He pushed all of theses thoughts away and concentrated on one thing only, Ponyboy.

"Pony, I can't come in much deeper. You have to trust me Pone. Jump. I'll catch you. You know that I'd never let anything happen to you if I could help it, don't you?." Ponyboy nodded.

"Good, because this is one of those times and I can help it and I am going to, but you have to help me too." Soda spoke calmly and reassuringly.

"I don't want to fall in," he whined staying as low down on the rock as he could while keeping a firm hold, "I can't swim."

"Your not going to fall in," Soda told him firmly, "Your going to jump and I'm going to catch you." Taking a deep breath Soda took another step. He sunk a lot lower into the water this time than he had done with any other previous steps that he had taken, he could go no further. The water had swallowed his entire lower body and lapped just below his chest. Teasing him and making his breath feel constricted.

Ponyboy turned to face Darry, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Go on little buddy, you can do it." he encouraged. He turned back to Soda.

"Come on Pony. Keep your eyes on me and jump. Don't pay attention to anything else going on around you, just listen to my voice and look into me eyes. You'll be fine." Ponboy nodded. He drew a quavering breath, shakily standing up to his full height. With one final look back at Darry, he closed his eyes and jumped.

He only just barely landed in Soda's arms, but land in his arms he did.

"Well done Pony." Soda told him proudly, hugging him tightly to is chest, keeping him high above the water as he began to wade back to the bank.

"You did brilliantly." Ponyboy didn't answer, he just held tightly to Soda as his brother transported him out of the water.

Darry couldn't keep the proud smile off his face. Never would he have been able to get Ponboy to jump to him like that. He would have had to have waded all of the way out to the rock to get him. Both his brothers had been so brave, and the amount of trust that they had shown for each other was astounding.

He quickly cleared the jump – with no problems just as he had expected – and raced to his brothers sides.

"Are you both okay?" he asked urgently. His eyes quickly searching his brothers for any injuries. They didn't appear to be hurt, just wet. But Darry wanted their confirmation that everything was okay.

"Were fine," Soda replied, his arms still wrapped tightly around Ponyboy. Darry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Are we hell going back that way," he said, "I'd rather take my chances with the slope, it's safer." Soda chuckled;

"Wheres you sense of adventure?" he teased. Hoping that he was not going to far, with their relationship being the way it was, but at the same time not being able to resist getting a dig in at Darry.. Darry lay on his back with his arms spread wide.

"Back on the other side of that water," he answered.

For a while all three brothers just laid side by side on their backs, looking up at the distant tree tops and the clouds rolling by. Contented with just being with each other and not wanting the company of anyone else. Happy to just be there at that moment.

That was until Soda got bored and wanted to do something else;

"Please, just a little look round, it wont take a minute." No I know it wont, thought Darry, it will take a hell of a lot longer. But they had already came this far into the forest, what harm could going a bit further do?

"Okay," he relinquished, "But just a little look, alright? After that we are starting to head back. Savvy?"

"Yeah, I got it," replied Soda hiding his grin, he always found a way to get Darry to come around to his way of thinking.

Reluctantly Darry and Ponyboy got up and followed Soda. The ground was terribly uneven and having either lost their sticks in the water or left them on the other side, they had to really concentrate on where they were walking. Gnarled tree roots twisted out of the ground and if you weren't careful, trapped your foot. Darry did not like this part of the forest one bit, and judging by the way Pony stuck so close to him, he wasn't fussed either. Soda however seemed unconcerned about his surroundings, he just soldiered on ahead.

This particular part of the forest was eerily quiet and any noise that they did happen to make, echoed in the silence. Nothing moved, not even a breath of wind rippled through the leaves. This place was in many respects dead. The trees that grew here cast sinister shadows on the ground, their twisted branches with their gnarled finger like shapes, that reached out to ensnare anything that ventured to close to them. This place had spooky feel to it, full of hidden dangers from which nothing good could come.

"Whoa," called Soda from up ahead, "You guys have got to see this." Darry and Ponyboy sped up and followed the direction from which Soda' voice had come from.

Upon arriving beside their brother, they gasped. There was one of the biggest and oldest trees that they had ever seen, it's tall body had been completely decapitated, leaving only a large jagged stump still standing. The main body of the tree lay a couple of meters away, it's length spanning for miles. All around it were splinters of wood that had broken off. Both the base of the tree trunk and the top of the stump were blackened, singed.

"What do you think happened?" Soda asked Darry.

"Lightening," he replied, "this tree was hit by lightening. Probably in he last storm we had, I'm sure if you got close enough to it you could still smell the burnt wood."

"Really? I'm going to see," Soda announced.

"Look at his one," Ponyboy called from Darry's right. Darry walked over to him and looked where Ponyboy was pointing. There was a deep welt a quarter of the way up, cutting right through the heart of the tree, no doubt once again having been seared by lightening. A thick amber liquid had bled from the welt, and ran down the tree trunk where it had hardened.

"Did this one get hit by lightening too, Dar?"

"Looks like it Pony."

Darry quickly glanced back at Soda, finding that he was no longer by the tree trunk where Darry had left him. In fact he was no-where in sight. Darry wasn't overly worried thought, Soda often disappeared for a minute or so, but he _always_ came back.

"Look Darry, berries," called Ponyboy happily, picking another blackberry from the bramble bush. It took Darry a few seconds to realize a lot of things. Firstly, that Ponyboy had called him. Secondly, that Pony was no longer at his side and was now off doing something else. Thirdly, that he was doing something that he shouldn't be. And fourthly, that Darry had to stop him. He turned around just in time to see Ponyboy raising his hand and bringing a berry to his lips.

"Ponyboy Curtis, drop them berries," he shouted, running over to Ponyboy. Upon reaching him, Darry overturned Pony's hand, making him drop all the berries that he had collected and knocking the the berry that he was about to ingest right out of his other hand. Ponyboy looked down at all his berries scattered all over the floor, then back up at Darry slightly annoyed.

"You can't just eat them like that Pony, you need to wash them first. Eat them like that and they'll make you sick," Darry explained calmly. Ponyboy sighed, it was still a waste of perfectly good berries.

"AARRGGHH!" came the scream that sent both of their hearts racing and their stomachs twisting in knots.

"SODA!" they both called simultaneously. There came no reply.

Darry raced over to the fallen tree, with Ponyboy at his side, but he could see nothing. The trees here were so close together that they obscured his view everywhere Darry tried to look. Panic was rising up inside of him.

"Soda!" he called out again, his shout echoed by Ponyboys higher voice. He wound in and out through all of the trees

Suddenly, the ground sunk dangerously down just as Darry emerged from the thicket of trees. If he hadn't have managed to quickly grab onto a sturdy tree branch then Darry would have slipped right the way down the hugh, almost vertical twenty-five meter drop of a slope. It wouldn't have been a smooth ride either, jagged rocks jutted from the ground as well as trees growing on the slope, brambles, nettles and whatever else have you, thriving on the difficult terrain. Darry watched as some of the earth that he had loosened from the edge of the slope tumbled down.

"Bloody hell," Darry cursed, "Ponyboy you stay back there, it's too dangerous for you." Darry managed to hoist himself back up onto the level ground. Breathing hard he took a good look down the slope, it had to be the largest he had ever seen by far. Down at the very bottom of it lay a body, unmoving and silent as the grave.

"Soda!" Darry all but screamed. Ponyboy came running up behind him, desperate to make sure his brother was okay. If it were not for Darry's arms quickly wrapping around Ponyboy then he would have joined Soda at the bottom of the slope.

"Careful Pony." But Ponyboy wasn't listening, he just stirred wide eyed at Soda's still form.

"What are we going to do?" he asked Darry, tears welling up in his grey green eyes.

"Your going to stay here," he told Ponyboy firmly. The last thing he needed was a hysterical Ponyboy on his hands, he had no idea how badly Soda was hurt and he needed to be able to think clearly once he got down there.

"Nooo," whined Ponyboy, "I wanna help Soda."

"Yes Pony. Look at the slope, you'd never be able to get back up that on your own, and I wont be able to help you because I'll probably have to carry Soda back up," Darry told him desperately. He was torn, he really didn't want to leave Ponyboy up here by himself, but he couldn't go down with him and he knew that he had to see to Soda as soon as possible. But deep down he knew that it was the only way.

"You can still help Pony, from up here you can see the whole slope, you can tell me the quickest and easiest way for me to get back up with Soda."

"Okay," he finally give in. Darry hugged him tightly.

"Make him okay, Darry," he begged.

"I will, baby. I will."

Darry tried to climb down the cliff, but soon he discovered that his efforts were futile. There were no footholds for him to use and every time he tried to grab hold of something he just ended up working it out of the ground and he would slide down a couple of inches. In the end he gave up trying to climb down and just turned onto his back and slid, wincing as a particularly large stone bashed against his back.

He fell in a heap at the bottom, his back smarting. He quickly got up though, only one thing was on his mind at this moment and that was to make sure that Soda was alright. Everything else no longer mattered at this particular moment.

He rushed over to Soda's side, relief flooding over him as he saw Soda's chest rise and fall with every breath that he took. He felt tears well up in his own eyes. Soda's bare arms were badly scraped and one of his knees was bloodied, the jagged tear in his pants suggested that he had caught it on a rock as he had fallen. He was a little cut up, but the thing that worried Darry the most, was the way in which he held his right foot.

"Soda," he called quietly, pushing his little brothers hair back off his face,

"Soda? Can you hear me honey? Open your eyes for me." Ever so slowly, Soda opened his eyes, wincing as pain shot through his ankle.

"Darry," he whispered, as if not daring to believe what his eyes were telling him was real. Darry had come to rescue him? He felt so bad, so guilty. How could he have told his brother that he had hated him? Darry had just risked himself falling to come and help him. He had to explain himself.

"Darry," he said, more strongly this time, and going to sit up, "I didn't mean those things I said to you, I -"

"Shhhhh," Darry cut him off, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and pushing him back down.

"I know you didn't, just lie back, try not to move. Everything is alright."

"No it isn't," Soda told him firmly from the floor.

"Where are you hurt Pepsi-Cola? Did you hit your head?" Darry asked, determined to find out exactly what was paining Soda.

"My ankle and no I didn't. I have to explain something to you, it's about what I – Ouch!" Soda cried. Darry had maneuvered his foot and took off his shoe and sock.

"Can you feel this?" Darry asked, prodding Soda's big toe with a pine needle that he had just found.

"Ouch yes, will you -"

"How about this?" he prodded the ball of Soda's foot.

"Glory, yes. Will you stop prodding me and listen."

"Can you move your toes?" Soda did so, wincing at the pain and slight discomfort it caused him.

"I don't thinks it's broken," Darry told him, "just badly sprained." Soda nodded, trying to sit up again. He wasn't one to stay down when injured, but the fact that he kept wincing at the slightest movement of his foot told Darry that it had to be pretty painful. Soda never complained of pain or let anyone see that he was in pain unless it was bad.

Darry quickly wrapped an arm around Soda's back, sitting behind him so that Soda could lean against his chest for support, not that he needed to. He ran his fingers through Soda's hair, relishing the fact that his brother was not pulling away from him. He knew that he had to move Soda sooner or later, but right now he was just enjoying being here with him.

"I never meant what I said to you," said Soda quickly so that Darry wouldn't interrupt him again.

"I was just angry and wanted to make you hurt as much as I was. I want things to go back to how they used to be, back to when you acted like a brother and not a jerk to us all the time," tears fell freely from Soda's eyes.

"I hate how you shout at me and Pony all of the time, were gonna do things wrong, everyone does, even you. I though that you didn't care about us no more and ... and that you were ashamed of us all, me, Pony, mum, dad and Two-Bit. Our neighborhood as well, you make us walk for miles on the way home from school, just do people don't know that you live on the East side. If your ashamed of something then other people are going to be ashamed of it too, Dar. We can't change the fact that we live on the East side, we just have to deal with it and get on with our lives. I hate the person you have become Darry, your like a monster. I want the old you back. My big brother who I love and looks out for me no matter what. I just want to go back to the way things used to be. The three of us, and Two-Bit too."

Darry held Soda close to him, he could feel Soda sobbing against him. Tears fell discreetly from his own eyes.

"I'm so, so sorry that I made you feel like that Sodapop." He kissed the top of Soda's head,

"I ain't been a real good brother lately have I?" He felt Soda shaking his head against him.

"Don't you worry, little buddy. All thats going to change." He told Soda, hugging him like he was never going to let go.

"It already has," Soda told him.

Darry hoisted Soda onto his back taking care not to move him about to much.

"Soda, your going to have to grip my sides really hard with your knees, I need my hands to climb," Darry told him.

"Imagine it as like being on a horse."

"Okay," said Soda doing as he was told. Darry hid a wince as Soda's keens dug brutally into his sides, Glory he was going to hurt tomorrow.

"Okay, you got a tight enough hold?" He certainly hoped so.

"Yeah."

"Good, don't let go."

Darry edged nearer to the slope, until he could see Ponyboy above him.

"To the right Darry," Ponyboy shouted down to him,

"I looks easier to climb up from there."

"Thanks Pony," he shouted back following his brothers directions. Ponyboy was right, it did look easier to climb up here than anywhere else, but what looked easy and what actually was easy were two different things.

"How's Soda?"

"I'm okay Ponyboy, you just stay there, don't come too close to the edge," Soda shouted up.

"I wont," Ponyboy shouted back joyfully.

Darry found that climbing with someone on your back was a lot harder than he had first thought, he was no longer streamlined and suddenly he had all of Soda's extra weight as well as his own to haul up the steep slope. Granted Soda wasn't very heavy but suddenly gaining a bundle of weight, however heavy was difficult to contend with.

Inch by inch, meter by meter Darry pulled him and Soda up. Finally he reached the top, he was beat, he still had to make one last push to get both himself and Soda safely over the edge, but he just didn't think he could do it.

Ponyboy was at his brothers' sides in seconds.

"Come on Darry, you can do it," he said encouragingly, mimicking the exact same tone as Darry had used earlier while trying to get him to jump into Soda's arms.

Darry tried to laugh but was too out of breath, football had nothing on this. Seeing that his encouragement, no matter how great wasn't working. Ponyboy reached out and took hold of Darry's arm, with all the might he could possibly muster, he pulled. Darry could feel himself being pulled up ever so slightly. He looked up, seeing the sheer determination in Ponyboy's eyes to get his brothers off the slope, spurred Darry on. With one final push he hauled himself and Soda over the lip of the slope and into the thicket of the trees. He gently lowered Soda off his back before slumping down the nearest tree.

Ponyboy ran to Soda's side hugging him tightly before running to Darry's and doing the same.

"You okay?" Soda asked Darry.

"Brilliant," was the out of breath reply,

"just give me a moment."

Ten minutes later the three brothers set off again. Darry had fully recovered from his ordeal on the slope, but he knew that there was another one just up ahead. He wouldn't be able to get over the stepping stones with Soda on his back, and Ponyboy couldn't swim, so that was that idea out of the window too. Not that he thought he stood much chance of swimming anyway.

It was a straight across climb, with the ground below their feet sloping downwards. Immensely difficult by anyones reckoning, but made even more so by the fact that Soda clung tightly to Darry's back, and Ponyboy clung tightly to his right hand.

"Thats it," he declared upon finally making the crossing,

"I've had it with these bleeding slopes, give me flat ground any day."

After they had passed over all of the uneven ground the trek became a lot easier and their progress was quicker. Now came the final and most difficult part, they had not been watching where they had been going when they walked this way before. They had just simply been walking . Darry was pretty sure that his internal compass would not steer them wrong though. It hadn't so far.

His bearings were true and soon enough the trees started to thinen out and become younger and younger.

"Ponyboy, run ahead and tell mum and dad that were coming and that Soda's hurt, will you. You don't have to tell them how it happened, I'll tell them all that, just tell them to watch out for us," Darry told him.

"Okay," he said before running off, Darry followed him at a slower pace. Soda rested his head against Darry's shoulder, he no longer had to tense his knees into Darry's sides, which they were both very glad of. Now that they were on even ground Darry could support his legs.

"You okay Sodapop?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," came the reply.

As they walked Darry heard something rustling in the trees above, he looked up and spotted another grey squirrel, this one bigger than the last.

"Soda," he whispered, "Look at whats in the tree above you." Soda looked up and gasped.

"A squirrel," he said excitedly.

"Told you I would find you one, didn't I?"

Finally they emerged from the forest. They were immediately met by their father.

"What have you two been up to?" he chuckled, he was by no means angry and he didn't look a single bit worried either, that struck Darry as odd. Mr. Curtis took Soda from Darrys back, giving his eldest son the relief that he so rightly deserved. Soda winced and moaned a little as his foot was moved .

"He's hurt his ankle dad," Darry quickly told him,

"I don't think it's broken just badly sprained." Mr. Curtis quickly re-affirmed his hold on Soda so that he could support his sons ankle and not cause him any further pain.

"Well done, both of you, you were incredibly brave, I can't tell you how proud of all three of you, looking out for each other just like brothers should."

"Yeah," said Soda happily,

"Were tight now"

"Glad to here it Pepsi-Cola."

Mr. Curtis carried his son over to he pick-nick blanket where Mrs. Curtis was sitting, with Ponyboy held tight in her arms.

"I knew I'd spoken to soon when I said that Pepsi-Cola hadn't had one of his usual accidents," chuckled Mr. Curtis, gently setting his son down. Mrs. Curtis however was not going to let the matter rest so lightly.

"What happened?" she demanded of her son. Obviously Ponyboy's explanation hadn't been enough for her. Darry explained everything, while Mr. Curtis wrapped Soda's ankle up with a bandage he had found in the first aid kit they kept in the car. He then washed all his sons scrapes and scratches with a strong smelling atseptic. When Darry had finished his explanation Mr. Curtis said proudly;

"Well looks like it was a good job he had his big brother around to help him out," he ruffled Darry's hair, "and his little brother to"

"Yeah,"agreed Soda happily, "My brothers are the tuffest."

When the sun started to set and the air became cooler the Curtis' began to pack up the car and made ready to leave. Mr. Curtis and Darry done the brunt of the work at their own insistence while Mrs. Curtis stayed with Soda and Ponyboy. Father and son liked this little alone time together away from everyone else to talk about things.

"I'm proud of you Darrel," he said putting the hamper basket back in the boot.

"You and Soda both got over you issues with each other. I know it couldn't really have been easy for you both but sometimes the best thing a person has to do is often the hardest."

"Yeah," said Darry, kicking the ball so that it landed perfectly in the boot;

"But sometimes things happen and put everything in perspective for you and you realize that every now and again some things aren't as important to you as you first thought, sometimes you have to take a step back to see what's really happening around you."

"Too true, " agreed Mr. Curtis.

The atmosphere in the car on the return journey was light and bouncy. Soda sat across Darry's knee, so that he could keep his foot elevated off the floor. Ponyboy sat as close to them both as he could mange without sitting on Soda's foot. Soda, exhausted from the days events reached out for each of his brothers' hands, taking them lightly in his own, before drifting lightly off to sleep.

"I love you Darry," he whispered.

"I love you too, little buddy," Darry whispered back, "and don't you ever let me make you think otherwise."

* * *

**What did you think?**

**Anything you didn't understand don't hesitate to ask.**

**If you have gotten this far then thank you very much for reading my second chapter. I am sorry that they are so long. **

**Constructive criticism welcome.**


	3. You Win Some,

**Okay, big apologies are owed on this story. I realise that i have not updated for close to a year, but in my weak defense these chapters do take a while to write and then type out, and this year i have just not had the luxery of such time. Anyway, i promised an update and here it is :)**

**It was my original intentions to split this chapter into two but over the year i decided that one would be more suitable. Judging by it's length i guess i should have stuck with two. I don't know about this one, i leave it up to you :/ I tired as much as possible to mirror my writing last time.**

**This has been my most challenging chapter yet for many reasons, doubt being a big contributer and also i know nothing about two of the subjects this chapter entails but since they are important to the characters i felt obliged to include them.**

**My information is off wikipedia and studing youtube videos so i am sorry if it is a little off or a lot off, which ever the case may be.**

**So here you are with my best regards, i apologise about the length of this one, i myself still remain shocked, think of it as extra for going so long without an update. **

* * *

It was a warm, bright Sunday morning. The sun stood central in the sky above, a burning ball of white hot combustion in the perfectly blue, cloudless beyond. Every now and then a gentle breeze, seeming to emit from no-where, stirred the newly green leaves upon the trees; making them dance a little in its wake. It was an unseasonably warm and pleasant day for early spring and perhaps served as a small indication of what was to come.

Mr. Curtis sat with his feet up in the living room, enjoying one of those rare moments of almost peace, as he took the opportunity to read the morning newspaper before it got dark again. Now and then something caught his attention and he would find himself chuckling aloud at the latest scandals.

Mrs. Curtis with the assistance of Ponyboy and Soda gave the garden some much needed tending, and although her two youngest sons hindered her work more than helped it; she could not help but smile as they laughed and played among the freshly cut grass.

Ponyboy's futile cries of, 'Uncle! Uncle!' were lost to laughter as Soda wrestled him to the ground and then proceeded to mercilessly tickle him.

Darry was the last to rise that morning, still tired from the grueling football training he had undertaken in the past week in preparation for the up-and-coming match. This singular match could make or break the team, and as 7th Grade Captain, he was determined to ready himself for either possibility.

Harmony reigned once again as the dominant feature in the Curtis household. In true brotherly fashion; Soda and Darry's differences had been resolved and well and truly forgotten. Their relationship remained as strong as ever and in addition to their re-affirmed peace, the atmosphere within the house returned to the former easiness and carefree feel.

After his tremendous fall, it had taken almost two weeks for the swelling in Soda's ankle to reduce, and longer still for Mrs. Curtis to deem her son physically sound to be up and about. Soda had ignored his instructions of rest, on many occasions, to get up and hobble about regardless. But when their mothers warnings had become nothing short of threats to bind him to the couch if that's what it took, he seemed to concede.

"Lemme up Soda," pleaded Ponyboy, attempting to look serious and intimidating, but the whole charade crumbled when the smile he had been trying so hard to apprehend broke across his face. He squirmed beneath his brothers hold; attempting in some way to lessen it, bit to no avail.

"Nope," grinned Soda gleefully, placing particular emphasis on popping the 'p,' "not until you say I'm the greatest."

"I am the greatest," supplied Ponyboy quickly, with a look that clearly spoke of the cat that got the cream.

"Smartalek Nuh-uh, not gonna work, you gotta say it properly. And place your hand over your heart too, just so that I know you mean it and you ain't got your fingers crossed behind your back."

Ponyboy made a show of strongly considering his options, while Soda poked him playfully in the side to make him hurry up; which only succeeded in making his younger brother squirm more.

Pony did as he was told, placing his left hand over his heart as if he were undertaking an oath.

"Sodapop Patrick Curtis, you're the greatest."

"I'm so glad that you think so," grinned Soda.

In accordance to his deal, he freed his brother from his incarceration. Straightening up, he held his hand out to pull Pony up. Ponyboy took it, his other hand curling around a convenient pile of freshly cut grass just to his right.

The two stood; facing each other for a fraction of a second, before Ponyboy took aim and threw. The shot couldn't have been better if he had planned it.

The clump of green shoots hit Soda square in the face, becoming entangled in his too long hair and falling into his mouth as he cried out in surprise.

As soon as he could speak again a gleeful grin spread across his face, his sparkling eyes dancing with mischief.

"Ohh you're gonna get it now little bro!"

The sounds of the two boys laughter and shouts filled the air as Mrs. Curtis sat back and observed, ready to dictate when things were going to far.

Darry emerged from the room he he shared with Pony and Soda, fully dressed; nothing about his appearance suggested his very recent awakening. The first thing he heard upon entering the hall was his brothers laughter emitting through the open back garden door. He smiled, wondering with vague amusement what those two were getting up too now.

Entering the kitchen, Darry proceeded to make breakfast. Finding that someone else had finished off the cereal, he had to settle for toast, none too delightedly he dropped three pieces into the slots and waited for them to cook while he scoured the cupboards for an accompaniment.

He was soon joined by Mr. Curtis, placing the finished paper on the dining table, before proceeding to open the fridge, a glass in each hand.

"Morning," Darry spoke over his shoulder.

" Just about," Mr. Curtis grinned, handing his son a glass of chocolate milk, the other for himself.

Sipping slowly and savoring the flavor, Darry checked his watch, a present from his most recent birthday. He was surprised to find the almost completely vertical hands to read half eleven.

"Wow, I didn't realize I had slept so late." It seemed as if time had completely bypassed him, rolling on at an exaggerated pace while he was left behind to play catch up.

"Well you must have needed it is all I can say," spoke Mr. Curtis brightly, adopting a relaxed slouching position in one of the dining chairs. "Personally, I think you should win this game on account of the sheer effort you have all put in alone. I just hope it pays off for you."

"Me too," said Darry checking on his toast , finding that it wasn't burnt enough for his liking he pushed it back down again.

"Speaking of training, I'm due there in about an hour,"He checked his watch to verify the time he had left. "It was a last minute decision. I forgot to say."

"Oh." There was something unusual in his fathers tone, Darry thought, something he wasn't sure whether his father was trying to hide or not.

"Something wrong?" He hazarded.

"Not wrong," Mr. Curtis disagreed, "just unavoidable bad luck. Soda wanted to ask a favor of you."

"What did he want to ask?" Darry's brow furrowed in confusion.

"He was wondering if you would accompany him to the park so he could try out his 'new' bike. Personally I think he just wanted to show you what he could do."

Soda had recently become the recipient of Darry's old bike after he had grown too big for his own and now that Darry was of the opinion that he was far too mature to ride a bike. But because of his enforced rest he had not had the opportunity to try it out yet and as the time increased, so too had his intense longing.

Instantly Darry felt guilty; despite the situation being out of his hands. There was no way he could miss training so close to a game, but he also recalled the pact he had made with Soda specifically; to be a better brother, and this instance was a perfect portrayal of what that pact entailed. For that moment Darry regretted his commitment to football, or rather his intensity of it.  
"I would take him myself," Mr. Curtis continued, "but I have to leave for work in half an hour and your mother is going to be busy all day with housework. Like I said, just unavoidable bad luck."

"I could walk him up to the park near the training ground," suggested Darry desperately seeking some sort of compromise that would suit everybody. "That way I get to see him riding it, which is what he wants, and then after training I could return to the park and stay with him there for a bit before bringing him home. But it's whether you trust me to know somewhere to to leave Soda on his own for a few hours, and whether also, with a warning, that you trust Soda to not wander too far."

It was a flawed compromise to be sure, but the only one he could think of given such a small time period. He looked sheepish while Mr. Curtis considered.  
"I trust you both explicitly, you know that. I trust you both to make the right decisions, and bare the consequences of your actions when you choose wrongly. If this is the decision that you have made, then I trust you to undertake it." Mr. Curtis amended with a small smile.

"Thanks dad." Darry was overcome by gratitude for his father.

"I won't let you down. I promise."  
" I know you won't," said Mr. Curtis simply.

Darry was certain that some would call his parents too lenient; too easily trusting in a house that was lacking in discipline. Perhaps saying that they had been too young to fully understand the weight of responsibility placed upon them, and as a consequence, remained unable to comprehend. Mr. Curtis has been but 20 when Darry was born and Mrs. Curtis just 19. Young indeed; but too young, that remained a matter of opinion. Personally Darry liked the freedom he was granted by his parents – whether it was right or wrong – It inspired him to choose rightly for his own means and not just because it was what his parents wanted or expected.

The perfectly cremated slices of toast leaped from the toaster with an audible _pop_, breaking the almost enchantment of the moment.  
"Breakfast is burnt," said Mr. Curtis with a small laugh.

Darry set about buttering the blackened slabs that seemed more fitting for the purpose of roof tiles rather than an edible breakfast.

From outside the house came the squeaking protests of the front gate as it was opened. Taking a bite of his toast, Darry waited for a few seconds, swallowed and then hollered; "Door's open Two-Bit!"

Mr. Curtis never battered an eyelid at his sons yelling through the house, although Darry could almost see the disapproving look upon hid mothers face, marred with exasperation. Very few people in the Curtis household bothered to answer the door, they just hollered that it was open and that the visitor should just come right on in. A habit Mrs. Curtis was trying fervently to break.

Two-Bit entered, his usual grin firmly plastered to his face, supporting a Grey Micky Mouse top; like an emblem of his beliefs.

"Morning y'all," he called.

"Just about," Mr Curtis repeated his earlier statement.

Two-Bit sniffed the air appreciatively and it wasn't until that moment that he realized he was hungry.

"Not too early for breakfast am I?" He asked, laughing at his own joke; Mr. Curtis joined in his laughter.

"Wise-guy," retorted Darry, throwing his friend one of his two remaining slices of toast.

Two-Bit caught it expertly between his index and middle fingers, grinning – if possible – even wider.

"Nice catch," enthused Darry.

"What can I say," said Two-Bit offhandedly, "It's a skill."

After both boys had eaten their fill, Darry made his apologies;

"I'm sorry Two-Bit, but nearly everyone's going out, I've got training, dad's got work, I'm taking Soda to the park near my training ground and picking him up later. You could probably go with, but with Soda riding and you walking I would imagine him becoming rather impatient waiting for you. Mum and Ponyboy are staying here, but they ain't doing anything exciting, just weeding the garden, you are more than welcome to stay though."  
"Sure. I'll stay and offer my services, I ain't got nothing else to do."  
"Good man," said Mr. Curtis, giving the boy a fond slap on the back as he departed.

When father and son were left alone in the kitchen Darry was struck with an idea.

"Dad, can I lend your watch?"

"Sure." Mr. Curtis handed it over without a moments hesitation. "May I inquire as to what for?"

"I say we give Soda a small taste of responsibility, what do you reckon?" ..........

Soda was disappointed at first to learn that Darry had training, but his spirits were soon uplifted again to immense proportion at the mention of Darry's compromise. This was the Darry that that he had wished for so long to see again, and all it took for this to be reaffirmed was for him to a mildly endangering tumble down a steep hill face. Imagine.

Soda bounded off, his mood simply buoyant as he went to change his attire to something that bore fewer grass stains.

Darry bid his farewells in the mean time; standing on the back garden step he called, "Soda and I are going now."

Mrs. Curtis rushed over from the nearby border – where she was moving a collection of Pansy's into a sunnier spot – to place a kiss on her sons check before he could protest or make his escape. Her long blond hair danced behind her in the breeze.

Darry rolled his eyes but swallowed his protests. Really, something had to be done about this.

"Don't train too hard," she told him firmly, "and tell Soda to try to stay out of mischief. At least for one day." Her smile was slightly exasperated but held no hint of real annoyance.

"I will," he smiled in return.

"See you later, little buddy," Darry called. Ponyboy's eyes saddened at the realization that he would not be accompanying his brothers, evidently he had held on to some hope up until that point. Two-Bit hastily distracted him by bringing the younger boys attention back to the overlarge hole the two had been diggings for reasons beyond Darry's comprehension, because no flower in their garden would ever be able to fill it.

Darry mouthed a silent 'later' to Two-Bit, raising a hand in farewell,who gave him a small salute in return.

Darry returned to the living room – giving Soda a quick shout to hurry him up along the way – where he helped his father carry the bike out into the front yard. Tying his football team jacket around his waist as it was too warm to wear it, but he hated to be without it. He observed the bike that up until recently had been his own, the red frame being of his choosing. Almost new and completely undamaged; he had found very little use for it.

"Looks a bit big," Darry concluded.

"Indeed" agreed Mr. Curtis thoughtfully, "I'll have to see about moving the seat and handle bars down a bit to a more manageable level."

Soda bounded out a few seconds later, his face alive with delight at the sight of his 'new' bike out in the open where it belonged. He was clad in a pair of denim shorts and a plain white T-shirt, his scuffed and worn baseball shoes remained firmly attached to his feet.

With Darry still keeping a tight hold of the front of the bike, Mr. Curtis placed his middle son upon the seat.

Soda stretched out his arms, reaching for the handle bars; but finding them an inch or so longer than his reach. He placed his left foot on the raised peddle and searched with his right for the other; he couldn't find it. Looking down he saw it to be a good tow or three inches below his foot, even when he stretched to close the distance.

Darry and Mr. Curtis tried to retain their laughter, but their attempts were in vain. Soda did not look pleased.

"Dad. Get me down I can do it on my own," he told him. Mr. Curtis obliged, apologizing for laughing, which Soda accepted.

"Darry, keep hold," Soda ordered. Darry bit back a laugh as his little brother barked orders like a commanding chief.

Standing on one peddle, he lifted his other leg over the frame until his foot mercifully made contact with the other. Not sitting on the seat granted him the extra inch – and more- he needed to grip the handlebars. He grinned triumphantly at his achievement.

"Well done," praised Mr. Curtis proudly, "have a little ride up and down, get the feel for it."

Under the watchful gaze of his brother and father, he rode the length of the street and back again which was more than a large enough distance. He adapted quickly to his new bike, getting a sense of it after the first few revolutions of the peddles. It had more power than his old bike, he could feel it, and it seemed, that just like himself, this bike had a thirst for speed.

He rode back to the front yard, gathering speed, where he pulled off a rather spectacular turn and immediately stopped at his spectators feet. Unfortunately the sudden halt had caused him to loose his balance and stumble. Darry caught hold of the bike seat, keeping both it and his brother upright. The two brothers shared a sheepish glance.

"Excellent," Darry praised him, for it was Darry's praise that he wanted most, "really excellent, I couldn't have rode it better myself."

"Really good," Mr. Curtis agreed smiling, "But we'll have to do something about the seat and handlebars, can't have you riding about on it and being unable to sit down," he chuckled slightly.

"No! I like it the way it is," Soda was insistent. Hardly anything got him riled and he was usually okay going along with anything, but on this occasion he remained adamant.

He did not want his bike changed or tampered with in any way. This bike as it was, linked him to Darry, it was an all to real representation of the bond they shared. Its newness and practically unspoilt existence was a good portrayal of their brotherhood, still in its early stages, new and baring no more than surface scratches from the hardships it had faced to date. It was passed down to him, just as knowledge, love and wisdom is passed down from an elder to a minor. And of course its overlarge size represented all the milestones Darry had reached and surpassed and all those that lay ahead of him. In one sense, the shoes he had to fill, and in another the growing he had to do. When he could ride his bike properly, the way it was now, then he would know that he had achieved something, just as Darry had. He wasn't sure what that something was, but he remained adamant that when that happened he would know.

Mr. Curtis saw that look in his sons eye. This bike, despite his only recent acquirement of it, meant something more to him than just a bike.

"Sure Pepsi-Cola, if you want it left that way then that's how it'll stay," he conceded.

Darry had witnessed that look only once before in his life, it was a look of sever seriousness and looked completely wrong playing on Soda's carefree features.

"We'd better go Soda," said Darry, checking his watch.

"And I'd better get to work," added Mr. Curtis, for a moment fingering his bare wrist where his watch usually resided.

"Have a good time both of you, and Soda, go easy on the ankle unless you want to spend another two weeks resting it up again," were his parting words.

The two brothers set off just as their father pulled out of the driveway. He gave them a wave as he drove past heading for the builders yard.

Soda may have been confident once he was riding the bike, but his starts were shaky and left a lot to be desired for, not that their wasn't valid excuse. The bike was too heavy for him for him to retain much balance while he was stationary Darry noted, and if something went wrong when he was riding he had very little hope of saving himself from a fall. But Soda didn't seem to care about the impracticalities of his new bike. His expression was euphoric as the slight wind whipped his hair back off his face.

Soda put the bike through its paces, testing its speed, agility and suspension, embracing any challenge that presented itself, whether it be difficult terrain or a steeply sloping sidewalk. But always he returned to circle Darry again, to let him know that he was near.

Darry whooped and cheered when Soda executed his stunts perfectly, and gave an encouraging 'ahhhwww' when something didn't quite go right. For the first time in a long time he found himself thoroughly and honestly enjoying himself. It seemed that Soda's blissful euphoria was contagious.

Soda rode, gathering speed until it almost felt like he was flying. Steadying his peddles at the optimum height he halted their revolutions. Drawing himself up astride them; he closed his eyes. His hands, strongly gripping the handlebars, kept his course true. Whether he remained on the ground or not, this, this was flying, and at that precise moment he could think of nothing else in the world that could compare to this feeling of ultimate exhilaration.

The sun looked down like a constant observer, remaining unshrouded by cloud. It put on a good show but its rays were still weak, pale, giving the sky the effect often adopted in a water colour painting. Everything seemed alive and thriving; from vegetation and wildlife, to those taking the opportunity to bask in the sunshine.

Heading due south and turning down a useful side road, which had stood unmarked for years, the two brothers left the neighborhood they had become so accustomed to behind in exchange for a middle class area. Darry, with Soda following his lead, emerged upon a vast, extending well kept wilderness of green. The Park.

Its large extension covered acres. In its heart stood two huge ponds, one sprouting magnificent jets of white spray up into the air before it fell back down and hit the surface of the water, causing a disruption in the otherwise smooth surface. Ducks glided through the water, now and again their small pointed tail the only part of them visible as they hunted for the fish below them. A small adventure park lay a short distance away, equipped with climbing frames and swings; small high pitched shouts emanated from within, its occupants a blur from this distance.

At intervals, their was custom seating for the spectator or scenarist. To the left lay a large copse of trees which undoubtedly held many a den from the multitude of children that passed through its heart. The immediate area was uneven with elevations and depressions; a perfect place for extreme riding, just Soda's forte.

"Right Sodapop, this is where I leave you, it ain't to far from where I am, just down the road," Darry pointed to the building in the distance which seemed to bare an overlarge back; a training ground that the nearby schools commandeered when a match was approaching. It had a feild both inside and out to compensate for whatever eventuality of the weather. Soda followed his directions.

"Gotcha"

"Now, mum and dad warned me explicitly to warn you, not to get into _too_ much trouble," Darry grinned, boy howdy did he feel like his father at this moment, Soda grinned too.

"So I just have, heed my warning, and try not to wander off _too_ far either."

Telling Soda point blank not to wander off was a waste or breath and time, so instead this had been adapted to 'don't wander too far' in the hope that this would give him limitations.

"Right," replied the bored voice, and most probably – although Darry didn't look – the rolling of the eyes.

He gave his little brother a small jab in the ribs, making sure he had a secure hold of him before he did so, not wanting to cause any further in-balance to his already precarious riding position.

"Hey little buddy, if you actually started paying attention to what mum and dad told you then you wouldn't have to have them repeating this to you over and over again." Darry kept his tone neutral for he was not scolding the boy, simply offering him some sound advice. Soda wasn't bad, he just hated anything that interfered with his fun, like rules.

"Yeah I know. I'll try," he promised.

"That's all I ask." There was a short pause in which neither said anything, then Darry's face alighted with remembrance; real or otherwise.

"I almost forgot," he announced plunging his hand into his jeans pocket. Soda followed his movements, intrigued. Finally Darry extracted something black strapped and glinting marvelously in the sunlight.

"Dad's watch!" Called out Soda in recognition. "But what ...?"

"Hold out your hand," said Darry for the moment disregarding Soda's question.

Soda complied and Darry fastened the watch to his wrist, even on the last hole it remained a little big for him, but was in no immediate danger of falling off. Soda just stared, like his eyes were telling him something other than the truth.

"Dad and I thought it might be nice to give you a small taste of responsibility." Soda's eyes widened, his mouth hanging practically agape. Darry chuckled slightly at his reaction.

"It's twelve O'clock now. Notice the two hands pointing up to the twelve?" Soda nodded. "Right, well when that big hand is on the twelve and that little hand is on the three, then it is your responsibility to come and meet me back here where I will be waiting for you."

Soda, still in a state of shocked silence, nodded. The watch weighed heavily on his wrist, much heavier than it's appearance would suggest.

He felt a sense of pride surge within him, pride at being entrusted. For once he felt an overwhelming urge to stay within the boundaries erected for him. To prove himself worthy of such trust, it domineered everything else within his being for a moment.

"You think you can do that?"

"I think so," said Soda, finding his voice at least.

"Well, I know so," encouraged Darry, "and if you can do this it might make mum and dad little more lenient with you, which means you won't have to hear the same warnings repeated to you countless times."

Soda hadn't thought of this and now that he did, it inspired within him even more drive and determination to succeed.

Darry, checking his own watch said;

"I really have to go now, remember what I told you; three O'clock."

He gave Soda a small slap on the back in means of a farewell.

"Sure. I'll be here," Soda told him determinedly. Neither hell nor high water could keep him away.

"I know you will ... Have fun," called Darry before he was obscured from sight by the copse of trees and Soda was left alone.

* * *

Two-Bit kicked a discarded can the length of the Curtis' street. The aluminum made a harsh clattering sound as it was propelled over the uneven pavement

Being the kind-hearted gentlemen he was, he had offered to run the shop for Mrs. Curtis after she found her house lacking in the bare essentials. Graciously she had accepted, thanking him explicitly and even giving him a little extra money to get something for himself in payment for the trouble he had undertaken.

Said money was now clinking lightly in his pocket.

The neighborhood was loud, his own ruckus only adding to the din. People shouted, hanging out of windows in conversations with neighbors that would seem more appropriate if they were separated by many more meters. Elvis hits blared from a radio on the window sill of a nearby house, its occupants no-where to be seen. Children from nearby could be heard down the side streets, shouting, screaming and demanding. A colourful string of profanities made its way into their play. The banging of a hammer struck close by, its target out of sight as someone attempted – probably with futility – to fix something up. A car backfired as it pulled out of the driveway ringing out like a gunshot. Many heads poked out of windows at the sound, but were soon retracted once the cause of the sound had been identified. The car, started up again, pulling out of the driveway it belched large black plumes of smoke out in its wake.

Two-Bit smiled contentedly, many would call this neighborhood rough, be taken aback by its loud an unrefined occupants and its dilapidated look. But not he, he found it strangely comforting. It was what he had always known and it seemed more certain not to change than many other things that claimed the same. He guessed that if someone remained in the same place for a long while, having no, or very little knowledge of anything else, then sooner or later he would find the good that no-one else hesitated long enough to come by. So immune to the bad it remained that the good was the only thing left to find.

Kicking the can onto the grass verge as the side of the road, he came to the last house on the seemingly ever continuing street. Pausing for a moment, with a strange sense of uncertainty, he looked around.

The front door stood ajar, swinging backwards and forwards slightly as if recovering from an immense momentum passing through it. The windows stood wide open, the discoloured nets floating out to dance untamed in the breeze. The house was deathly silent ...

That was until, like water cascading through a broken damn that had kept it caged for so long that everyone had forgotten its sound, a shrill voice rang out shattering the silence.

"Get out! Get out of my house! Get out! Get Out!Get Out! ..." The shouts dissolved into one continuous syllable.

Two-Bit was a little startled and stood stark still, knowing he should not pry, but not being able to force himself away.

"I never want to see you in this house again!"

There was the sound of bone colliding with bone, and the shattering of glass within. This was proceeded by the slamming of a door and then silence again.

The front door, which had finally come to rest completely still, was thrown forcefully wide open again by a small figure, no bigger than four foot.

The small boy's expression was unreadable as he ran from the house, his strides, though only minor, suggested a limp as he defiantly refused to turn his head back round to regard the house he was running from.

For a moment his small dark eyes met Two-Bit's Grey ones, holding nothing but embarrassment at what a stranger had witnessed, before his long shaggy bangs fell into them obscuring Two-Bit's view.

His face on the right side bore multiple cuts which were only revealed when the two met each others gaze for a fraction of a second.

The small dark haired boy whipped around the nearby corner and vanished from sight.

It took Two-Bit a few minutes to recover his senses, blinking dazed in the sunlight staring at the house who's only indication of what had just occurred was the ajar door swinging rather more forcefully on its hinges than it had done before.

A few minutes later Two-Bit heard the shouting start up again in the distance.

* * *

Soda rode confidently now, everyone else's hangups about his new bike had proven irrelevant and unnecessary.

He rode the perimeter of the park twice, embracing every challenge that the uneven ground presented. Building up a speed that was frankly shocking and executing perfectly, jumps and turns that were both spectacular and terrifying. Eyes watched him as he went but Soda remained oblivious. Always he watched the tiny needle like finger chart its course around the clock face reporting minutely.

Once he was nearly bucked, when his front tire slid into a particularly nasty and partially obscured pothole. But his new sturdier bike and quick reactions averted any crisis before it could strike. Had he been riding his own bike both he and the offending object would have laid heaped on the ground.

Although he enjoyed the sense of freedom and exhilaration that caused adrenalin to course through his veins, he could not help but long for some company. One person alone found themselves bored more easily and frequently than two or more people at a time, and if there was one thing that Soda hated – to the point of it almost being unbearable – was bordem.

He looked around, searching for anyone his age that he would be willing to introduce himself too. But there was no-one. In fact these people did not look anything like the sort of people he knew. They were not the friendly, open people who would start a conversation with anyone at the drop of a hat, just for conversation sake, rather they appeared standoffish, keeping themselves to themselves and never opening conversation with anyone other than those who accompanied them. Soda remained slightly puzzled.

After circling the parks vast perimeter twice more, all thrill and danger was gone, it began to feel safe and repetitive. He needed another stimulus.

Taking matters firmly into his own hands, he set his mind upon building a spectacular training course that taught; speed, agility and skill.

Laying his bike down in the springy grass, at a great distance away from anyone else, he proceeded to search for useful materials.

His search led him to the small copse of trees clustered nearby. They provided a refreshing shade that he didn't even realize he'd needed. The ground was littered with small twigs that had broken off their great masters; browning leaves from the most recent Fall; and acorns and pine cones that could have dropped and remained sedimentary for many years, their age unknown. It was like a small bit of wilderness contained in the city.

He gathered up an assortment of twigs and sticks, until his arms were completely laden, and carried them back to where his bike lay.

Tackling a nearby hill, he stooped half way allowing his burden to tumble from his arms, scattering on the floor.

Quickly, he set to work; aligning a number of sticks into a circle, snapping them down to the correct size when he needed to. The ground bent easily to his will as the twigs sunk effortlessly into the still moist soil.

He repeated this process again a little further along and again a little further after that. His logic being that from the top to the middle of the decline, whomever rode down it would gather considerable speed, then they would have to navigate around the circle of sticks – never touching them – before coming to the bottom. Thus teaching speed and acquired skill.

Rather proudly, he placed the last stick into the ground, sitting back to admire his work, he was startled by an unfamiliar voice behind him.

"What are you doing?"  
With wary eyes Soda turned round to regard the stranger.

Standing before him was a boy about his age, perhaps slightly older. He stood tall and was of slim stature, with thick dark hair which he kept long and seemed to fall into vague but complicated swirls of its own accord. His face was young and laughing, but seemed to bare a ghost of forced maturity that looked out of place and hard, as if his young eyes has witness more than rightfully they should have. He wore only denim shorts and a denim sleeveless jacket, his torso left bare and sat astride a particularly beaten looking bike. The boy smiled slightly. He reminded Soda of the boys in his neighborhood and if he didn't know better, he would swear that he was.

"Building a training course, teaching: speed, agility and skill," he announced proudly, "What do you think?" Soda had always been taught to ask for and accept once told, other peoples opinions .... when he could, and such opinions were not completely ludicrous.

The boy's eyes traveled over Soda's work, assessing it for himself; finally he spoke:

"It could be better." Surprisingly, despite his own pride of his achievement, Soda was not offended, and couldn't rightly grasp why, "If you had a little help," a grin spread across the boys face.

"You're offering?" Asked Soda.

"Sure."

United in their task, neither boy asked the others name, as neither held such formalities in high esteem.

The two worked together as a team to lift, carry, dictate and decide. Unhindered by the usual first meetings wary approach to one another and guarded uncertainty, a friendship between the boys soon started to ignite, burning brightly and quickly like a kindred flame. They chatted easily about bikes, cars and engines, the latter two topics especially brought forth great animation and engagement form both boys.

Soda was rather startled to find that conversation flowed just as easily and effortlessly as if he were engaged in converse with either Darry or Ponyboy. The one defining difference though was that this boy shared Soda's own interests, and vice versa, and contributed greatly and more enthusiastically than either of his brothers did.

It did not seem amazing that the two had only just met and already forged such firm foundations of friendship, rather it seemed ridiculous that they had never known each other beforehand. Things appeared to fall so easily into place without seemingly any assistance that it was pretty unbelievable.

"Done!" Soda shouted triumphantly, placing his star find, a perfectly rounded rock at the top of the decline before running down its length; coming to a halt at his new friends side.

The two stood side by side – Soda an inch of so shorter than his friend – admiring their work. Their training course, now bigger and better, consisted of; a tunnel formed by broken branches bowing to each other as they stood uniformly, facing one another; the already existent weaves that had been Soda's initial idea; the perfectly rounded rock who's uninterrupted course down the hill had to beaten by the participant; and the broken remnants of a makeshift ramp, lacking in sufficient and suitable materials, which would have been easy to acquire had they been on their own turf, they'd given that up as a bad job.

Sharing a collective grin that clearly spoke competition – nothing was said aloud but in that look both understood what they other was trying to convey – each raced for their bikes and took their starting positions at the center most point of the hill.

"By the way, I'm Steve. Steve Randle." He held out his hand.

"Sodapop Curtis." He shook it. A slightly amused grin spread across Steve's face.

"That's your real name?"  
"Sure," Soda grinned back having heard this question or others to the same effect, so many times now that it got more amusing with every repetition. Always it was asked in the same slightly disbelieving tone. Implying that he was, for whatever reason, feeding them a lie. Adults were the worst for it. "Personally I like it, my dad says it's original."

"Tuff," nodded Steve, and no-more was said on the matter of names and their unusualness.

Soda shifted his position slightly on his bike and asked: "You ready?" Steve gave a curt nod in confirmation, shouting;

"Marks!" He face was serene in concentration.

"Get set!" Soda returned.

"GO!" They yelled simultaneously. Soda with the tip of his shoe nudged the rock and with great speed it hurtled down the hill, the two boys flying after it.

The two were neck and neck, Soda bowed low over his handlebars to give him extra speed, Steve mirroring his tactics as both fought for a lead that neither seemed to gain.

Finally as the neared the tunnel, residing just a little less than half way down, Soda inched forward gaining a little ground. A little was all he needed – he sailed through the arch of trees with ease, Steve having to fall behind to avoid ramming into him. A wild grin spreading across Soda's face he increased his speed to an optimum level, he was now literally flying; every elevation in the grass' surface causing both his wheels to lose contact completely with the ground for multiple seconds at a time. Steve fell further and further behind, Soda's lead it seemed, was unbeatable despite Steve's best efforts.

Determination gripped his features as he approached the weaves; skill these indeed taught and skill was indeed what he would to surpass them.

Veering off to the left he gave himself a wider space within in which to turn. Easily he passed through the middle of the first two circle's of sticks. He repeated this tactic again and again as it proved infallible, even if it was a little time consuming. This had given Steve an edge and he was now hot on Soda's heels, though admittedly struggling with the weaves. Soda stole a quick glance over his shoulder, his face alight with smugness.

Finally Steve adopted Soda's tactics, but it was in vain, for the very next moment Soda passed through the last two weaves and glided effortlessly to a halt – the rounded rock with its left over momentum sailed past him a moment later – his fist held high and punching the air in a victory gesture as he exclaimed; "Yes! Woohoo!"

Steve came to a halt gracefully at his side a moment later, he looked rather put out at losing but graciously congratulated Soda all the same;

"Well done, really," he grinned, "but I put my losing down to the fact that you have a much better bike," he said in the next breath. Soda laughed animatedly, that sounded exactly like something he would say.

"Winner," he gloated in a way of good nature.

"For now," amended Steve patiently, "but just wait until I get a better bike. Then we'll see it you can still keep that title." His eyes alight with challenge.

"Bring it on," Soda over enunciated, his eyes similarly alight.

Like so many things in life, the process undertaken to achieve the end results often yielded more fun than the end results themselves. Steve and Soda soon abandoned their training course and moved their attentions to something different. Finding the means proving better than the results.

"So if you're from the East side, like me. What are you doing all the way out here?" Soda asked after inquiring such information. He had also found out the reason why he had never seen Steve around before, he had recently moved from a different part of the neighborhood, where Soda was not allowed. It was a rough place. He had also attended another school but from his new location it was a task to get too so had been forced to change schools. He didn't seem particularly bothered about the disruption to his life though.

The two lay stretched out on the soft grass looking up at the virtually cloudless sky where barely existent wisps tinged the smooth blueness. Their bikes close, resting against each other cast spindling shadows upon the two of them.

Steve gave a small shrug, for a moment a new expression passed across his features, a sour expression, but it was soon replaced by a blanketing neutralness.

"Just went for a wander and this is where I ended up." Before Soda could press the matter his attention was diverted.

"Same question to you," said Steve.

"Wanted to try out my new bike, well it's not strictly mine, it was Darry's and he gave it to me because he says he's 'too mature for bikes now.' So anyway he brought me down here so I could test it out while he goes to training. He'll be back later."

Steve nodded at the rather overload of information but then his brow became furrowed, evidently in confusion.

"How can anyone be too mature for bikes?" His tone sounded disbelieving, as it would after someone had received a great shock.

"I dunno, I'd wondered about that too," Soda's face held the same look of confusion. Finally he shrugged as if the answer had defeated him and with a wry smile said; "But Darry's Darry."

Steve didn't know what that meant, or why Soda had spoken those words with a tone of finality excluding the fact that they did not constitute as a real answer.

"So you got a brother then?" Steve asked, his face for a second turning stony, he caught his expression and quickly changed it to reflect curious interest.

"Two," Soda corrected, " One older, one younger. I'm the middle brother."

"Oh. Must be nice," something about his tone was slightly off although it was well concealed, not quite jealousy but definitely an air of someone who had been unfairly done by. He twisted the grass around his finger in a distracted way.

Soda thought for a moment.

"Yeah. Yeah it's real nice." His eyes were almost glazed as he spoke, "I mean sometimes we fight and that ain't so good, but most of the time besides that, it's great."

"What about you?" He asked Steve in turn.

"Nah, only child." There was that tone again.

"Geeze," Soda smiled, "that's gotta be nice sometime, round at our house everyone's always on top of each other. But we kinda like it that way."

"Yeah,"said Steve with an air of someone admitting a truth to themselves that they had been trying to deny. "Sometimes."

"But it gets lonely, huh?" Guessed Soda.

"Yup. A lot of the time it is lonely." He sat up suddenly looking Soda fully in the face, "You're lucky yanno, having brothers."

"I know," Soda reassured him, his eyes speaking complete sincerity.

"Sometimes I wish I was just as lucky," his laugh held a slightly bitter note, but his face remained serene.

"Well ... I'll be your bother." Soda sat up also, so that he and Steve faced each other. Brown eyes met blue, sincerity met awed confusion and disbelieving wonderment.

"Really? You're serious?" Steve seemed hardly daring to believe what he had just heard.

"Sure." Soda grinned at how much this seemed to mean to Steve, "I mean obviously I can't be your real brother because we ain't related, but I can be as good as. Geeze you already feel like my long lost twin, it's creepy," he laughed.

Steve's returning laugh was simply buoyant, his face etched with undiluted happiness.

"I'd like that," he said.

"Well then it's settled, brother." Steve grinned even wider at his new title.

"But ... Isn't there something that we have to do?" Steve's brow furrowed.

"Oh. You mean like blood brothers?" Soda grimaced, "I don't much fancy purposely cutting my finger, sorry. Not to mention the fact that my mum and dad would kill me for doing so if they ever found out."

"And I haven't got a blade," supplied Steve tapping his pockets hopelessly, as if to demonstrate their emptiness.

This statement did not unnerve Soda, quite on the contrary it intrigued him. Many boys in their neighborhood carried blades – mainly those of adolescence – and even on the odd occasion some girls did too. Soda didn't know the exact reasoning of this, but he thought that it must be something about them wanting to look tough. For indeed that is what they looked. It intrigued him slightly why Steve would have one, but he didn't press the matter.

"Well none of that matters," supplied Soda his hands flailing in the empty air as if batting such trivial and unimportant matters away. "As long as we act like brothers and treat each other like brothers should, then what does it matter that we didn't cut our fingers?"

"I agree," said Steve grandly. He held his right arm aloft in the usual position undertaken when one prepares for an arm wrestling match. Looking Soda in the eye, he spoke only one word;

"Brothers."

Soda, holding his arm in a similar fashion, grasped Steve's hand. "Brothers"

Their oaths sworn, the two sat in awed silence. Brothers, comrades, friends. In their young minds their vow was watertight, and no questions about its authenticity were raised. In a world were things so easily occurred they remained brothers.

Because of a pact made in childhood a friendship grew to immense proportions. The union of two roughed diamonds, uncut and hidden among the rocks; for all the world tarnished and obscured by the darkness. But within; glitteringly pure and priceless. Sacrifices were made, brave deeds undertaken, some paying off; others lost in warfare, the very foundations of family were shaken, rifts were forged and in some places never completely healed; and all was lost to an untimely end. But when you are eight and half and nine years old, you don't think of things that way.

"You like rodeo's?" Asked Steve suddenly, sitting bolt upright again.

"Hell yeah!" Enthused Soda, "who doesn't?"

"Have you ever been to one?"

"Nope." Soda remained a little disappointed at this fact. "I've only ever seen them on T.V. My dad said he'll take me one day though," he added hopefully.

"I have." Steve grinned and then he amended, "although I wasn't strictly supposed to be there."

The roughish look of mischief that spread across his face then was one that Soda was sure had been present on his own many times.

"But then ... How?" Soda's expression was a mixture on confusion and awe.

"I could show you if you like, you'll enjoy it I promise."

"Sure." Soda grinned jumping to his feet and following Steve to where their bikes lay.

A couple of steps short he halted, that all too familiar warning replying in his head, this time accompanied by a rather sudden increase in weight from the beautifully crafted watch that currently resided on his wrist. The weight of responsibility.

"Whats wrong?" Steve asked, already astride his bike, and noticing that Soda hadn't followed suit.

"Darry said I shouldn't wander too far, and mum, and dad." Soda listed the people who often gave this explicit order that he had never before heeded. He didn't know what had caused him to stop and hesitate this time, maybe he didn't want to betray Darry's trust, for unless he had really stepped out of line, Darry would not tell on Soda for exceeding his boundaries. Or perhaps he was finally grasping some points of responsibility. He didn't know what it was, but it had stopped him in his tracks.

"It ain't far, I promise. It only takes about ten minutes to get there and that was when I was walking."

Soda still looked uncertain but a little more appeased.

"Come on, would I lie to you, brother?" Asked Steve, his face a mask of angelic innocence.

"I have to be back by three," Soda argued feebly as it was clear his worries had been quelled and the battle won. It really mustn't be that far, and not far enough to exceed his invisible boundires.

"Well, what time is it now?" Asked Steve, crossing his arms over his handlebars and leaning on them in a casual way.

"Ummm ..." Soda looked at the delicate clock face, the spindle like fingers reporting a time to him that was unfamiliar. He was very careful not to allow his confusion to betray him and kept his expression neutral. The smallest finger lay over the two while the longer finger resided in the general vicinity of the three and the four.

"Not three." Soda supplied with a smile.

"Well thats good enough for me. Lets go!"

Without another moments hesitation, Soda was astride his bike and following Steve's lead, a new kind of adrenalin pumping in his veins.

With such close proximity to the back exit of the park it remained a relatively simple feat for both boys to make their bid for freedom. The black, ornate, spear topped gate swung elegantly closed again after them.

Steve led the way across a large, rather unkept field, its indecent appearance was shrouded by its surroundings from the eyes of any passer by. Soda kept speed with Steve, though leading he always remained a few inches ahead. The seeding grass, long, brittle and straw like; the colour of sand, reached up and tickled their exposed ankles. It marked their passage though its mass yellowed bulk. Its wispy strands forced out of the way by their passing never retained their previous erect positions.

The field gave way to a riverside path; through a copse of trees, once again obscuring the slightly obscene wasteland from sight. From the left, the sun filtered through the entangled branches and abundant leaves to cast fleeting, twisting shadows on the ground and patches of pure sunlight where it penetrated completely through the canopy above. To the right the river rippled by almost soundlessly, the present breeze causing small disturbances on the lightly waving surface. The sunlight glistened off the blue green mirror swirling exuberant patterns. Every now and again ever expanding circles could be seen on the waters surface followed by a quick flick of a scaled tail as a fish rose for oxygen or else the hasty retreat of a winged insect that had gotten to close.

Soda took in the view with slight awe as a small smile spread across his face. He was certain that had Ponyboy been present he would have called everyone to a halt and lingered procrastinating in the scenery spot for as long as he could manage.

Cutting through the third specified opening in the trees, the other two of which laying a little further back, Steve veered their course onto another far stretching field. This one however was well kept, the grass trimmed short and neat; retaining a more natural and healthy looking green colour. A mile or so to the left lay a worn road, its evidently once bumpy surface now perfectly smooth as it led the way to the white washed, open topped stadium laying basin like some distance away.

"This way," called Steve distancing himself from the approaching road. Soda grinned a little as he followed, he hadn't expected to be taken via the usual specified rout.

Their course led them to the back of the spherical, half dome stadium; the furthest part away from the grand royal blue doors that were usually the admittance point.

A group of overlarge, commercial bins stood gathered against the side of the stadium, which sides upon closer inspection bore a continuous Cris-crossing pattern of slightly protruding beams , which at a distance were disguised by the sun reflecting off the white surface giving it the effect of looking perfectly smooth. Someone with small enough feet could use this to their advantage, the rim of the stadium bore a small overhang, perfect for the triumphant climber.

Soda caught on to to Steve's slightly unorthodox methods without having to be told, once again this reminded him of something that he would do. There was always a way around things.

Steve approached the bins, looking slightly dwarfed by their extreme industrial size, he turned back to Soda with a slightly uncomfortable look on his face.

"Would you give me a boost?" He asked quietly. "I can get up on my own of course, its just a little difficult," he added quickly.

Soda didn't doubt that for one moment, "I'll pull you up once I'm up," Steve told him.

"Sure."

Clasping his hands together, Soda allowed Steve to place his foot on top, casting aside Steve's apology, he lifted his friend; who could not have been much heavier than himself, as Steve strived to get a good grip on the top of the bin. Once he succeeded, Soda lifted Steve's foot above his head and with ease Steve clambered up.

Leaning over the edge, he called to Soda;

"Stand on the wheel and I'll pull you up."

Soda did as Steve directed, reaching up to grasp the pair of hands that awaited him, with his leverage he climbed easily up the treacherous plastic surface with Steve supporting his weight.

The two shared a smugly triumphant grin from their new vantage point.

"Onwards and upwards," called Steve sounding for all the world like a particularly enthusiastic explorer. Soda laughed at this thought.

Their feet were both small enough to take full advantage of the partially built ladder that had to be a pretty basic design floor. But then again, who other than those brought up in their neighborhood – who learned early that there were always other means of achieving the same result – would consider scaling a building just because the necessities were present.

Emerging over the top and taking a cautious seat on the overhang; Soda gasped.

Everything was so much bolder and brighter then it had appeared on the T.V. Screen, and lacking as it was in its ability to portray anything deeper than the visible happenings and the animation of the crowd, the Television set had neglected to include the intense atmosphere that resided within the white washed walls.

There was an air of challenge, of excitement, danger and pace. Here, great champions were made, prince's among their spectators and here also fell those who couldn't make it. It was like a whole other world, one that was united and divided at the same time by their passion.

Steve emerged, taking a slightly more relaxed seat at Soda's side, with his feet dangling over the edge of the overhang into thin air. He gave a small whistle before speaking in a knowing voice;

"It's really quite something isn't it?" Soda gave an awed nod in confirmation to Steve's question and Steve seemed to find the fact that he had been momentarily struck dumb quite amusing.

Soda returned his attention back to his observations. The cold stone seating remained empty now, but if he closed his eyes for a second he could imagine it, the stadium filled to the rafters, the crowd shouting, jeering, cheering and chanting for the competitors that stood in their midst. And the sand, from his vantage point looked like pure gold, a very fitting carpet for the ultimate victor.

It was then that he noticed his champions carpet being disturbed, great plumes of it rose like a swirling mist in the wake of a particularly skilled Barrel racer navigating her complicated course not to far from where they sat. Her twists and turns were so sudden and so narrow that half of the time it appeared like she left it until the last possible moment to react. Soda watched her in amazement as despite this she looked so perfectly at ease. Rounding the last barrel, horse and rider approached the stands. The girl high fived another as they passed, evidently friends, and the second girl took up her place at the start. She turned out to be just as good as the first.

"Of course they're only training now," said Steve, "but when there is a real competition, we'll come back and watch."

"Really?! I'd love that!" Soda could barely contain his excitement. Steve chuckled a little.

"I thought you might. I'd like that too."

"So the it's a deal?"

"It's most definitely a deal."

Soda's attention was drawn again back to the action within the stadium via the tempestuous snorting of a bull, this time to the far end. A small, evidently quickly constructed fence separated the Barrel Racer's from those training for a different event.

A fully grown bull, its entire body quaking with rage charged around the corral. A man and woman each astride beautiful mahogany coloured horses brandishing lassos, flitted daringly around it, circling it. The bull gave another tremendous snort, lowering its head so that the tip of its horns were on level with anything that might get in the way. It charged again, the female rider darted out of its way, and with reactions lightening fast; let lose her lasso which easily found its target; tightening around the bulls horn.

She gave a "Yes!" of victory, of which her partner returned. Still holding the rope attached to the bulls horn, she baited the raging beast while her partner with such bold confidence swung two lasso's at once. Each finding their intended target around the bulls hind legs.

The two faced each other and pulled as one. The bull, unbalanced, went down like a ton of bricks and stayed down. The event had been won.

Steve remained just as awed as Soda and as the two turned to face each other, after baring witness to these events, it was to find that each bore the same longing expressions. This was something that they wanted to be part of.

"One day Soda, I don't know when, and I don't know how, but that's going to be us." He motioned to the array of competitors. "We're gonna be the best jockeys this, or any other stadium has ever seen."

Both their faces were alight with such passion that no-one would have ever doubted their words, despite their young age, that look seemed to make anything possible.

The two sat for a long time observing the action below them in an almost mesmerized fashion. They became thoroughly involved, cheering – although not too loudly as to get them caught – when the competitors claimed victory, backing different competitors for whatever their reasoning and even taking bets on where those here present today would rank during an actual rodeo. The prize being now more than the satisfaction of winning as neither had anything on them to bet.

It was there as the sat that something caught Soda's eye, the sun glinting off a perfectly smooth and rounded surface near his right wrist. The watch clock face. He shifted his wrist a little so he could see the time.

"Oh no!" He exclaimed shuffling to the edge of the overhang he looked for the best way to get down.

"Whoa there! Where are you going? Whats wrong?" Steve asked catching hold of Soda's T-shirt.

"It's almost three O'clock!" Cried Soda desperately.

"Crap." Steve spoke, recollection on his face. "Follow me."

He led the way to what he considered to be the easiest way down. Soda following quickly after him, his steps faltering once or twice, such was his panic. Each time Steve caught him and held him steady. Upon reaching the overlarge dustbins both made spectacular leaps tumbling to the ground where they rolled just upon landing to dispel the left over momentum and prevent any injury in a slightly awry jump.

"How long do we have to get back in?" Asked Steve getting to his feet.

Soda looked down at his watch trying to calculate, but the panic within him was rising to momentous proportions. The first time he had tried to be responsible and he was failing, and it remained all because of his own careless doing.

"...Five...Six..." The little lines indicating minutes seemed impossible to count at that moment.

Sensing his friends momentary inability, Steve took hold of Soda's wrist and turned it so that he answered his own question.

"We've got ten minutes," he nodded his head, gaging the distance against time and deciding that they were good odds.

"We can make it by that," he spoke reassuringly.

"You think?" Soda asked, despite his best efforts hope rising unwillingly within him to combat the panic.

"I do. Come on."

When both were astride their bikes Steve was struck with an idea, it was one that appealed to him very much and thus concluded that vicariously it would appeal to Soda.

"Imagine you're in a race. Not a race against others, but a race against a time limit." Soda nodded and he and Steve set off, competing against time, competing against doubt and competing against responsibility, or the lack there of.

Soda didn't pay the slightest but of attention to where he was going, relying on the fact that he knew the way and his feet would lead him, or failing that Steve would. Different scenarios played out in his head, each featuring prominently him, Darry and Steve. Alternating between an early, an on time or a late arrival and the consequences of each. He had earlier boasted to himself that neither hell nor hight water would keep him from being there at the specified time, but what if he didn't need either of those? What if he himself was a greater hurdle to have to overcome that those two things together? But one thing that stuck out the most to him was that responsibility was a hard thing to have to shoulder, and now more than ever, he understood where Darry was coming from when he spoke of such.  
Even if he didn't make it in time, he would bare his punishment willingly, for he had learned something today, or rather finally gained understanding in something that up until this point had remained a mystery to him. Whether that had been his father's and his brother's intentions or not, it surely had to count for something.

Entering the park once again via the back exit, Soda and Steve were slightly out of breath, such was the immense speed they had traveled at. Soda was too afraid to check his watch for surely that meant certain doom, and he was not ready to accept such yet. He rode through the vast greenness with his kindled hope fading fast.

His heart plummeted as he found Darry to already be waited for him in the designated spot.

"I'm late!" He cried pitifully in defeat.

"What?" Darry asked him as Soda pulled up beside him looking distraught.

"Soda, whats wrong?" He asked again, this time with more urgency, for the look on Soda's face panicked him.

"I'm late," Soda repeated utterly disappointed.

The look of relief on Darry's face could not have been plainer, that was it! For one terrible moment there he had been thinking all sorts, this option defiantly the most preferable.

"Soda, you aren't late," said Darry, consulting his watch, "in fact you're early."

"I am?" All disappointment vanished from his face instantly, to be replaced by a look of deepest confusion. On one side that meant that he had earned the right to be trusted a little more, despite his wandering, albeit though not outside his boundaries. On the other side, how was that possible?

"Look," said Darry amusedly, showing Soda both his own watch and lifting up Soda's wrist so that he could gaze upon the lent watch residing on his wrist also. Each showed the same time, three minutes to three. Well, that had certainly shocked him.

"But, you're here?"  
"Well then I guess I'm a little early too," chuckled Darry. "Well done, little buddy. I think you have proved that you deserve a little more trust." Darry ruffled his little brothers hair affectionately while Soda remained astounded.

"Here, I got you this. You look like you could use it." Darry handed Soda an ice cold bottle of water.

Soda drunk deeply, savoring the ice cold liquid as it slid down his parched throat. He drank half of the bottle, wanting more but resisting his own greed.

It was then that he noticed Darry's eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind him, and it was also then that he became aware of Steve's absence from his side.

"Who's that?" Darry asked.

Soda whipped round, he saw Steve standing a good few meters away regarding them both, evidently keeping his distance as not to be intrusive on the brothers conversation. Seeing no-one else around Soda concluded that it was Steve whom Darry had inquired about, for a moment his mind had neglected to recall the fact that Darry and Steve did not know each other.

"That's Steve. He's my best friend," he told Darry confidently.

From the first moment Steve had lain eyes on Darry he had remained silently awestruck. From what Soda had told him he had gaged that Darry was big, muscular and liked to play football, but the guy that stood with Soda now looked, for lack of a better term, practically brutish, except for his evident kindness and face that was neither hard nor cruel. His eyes were blue ice mind, but even those could not be pitted against the compassion he showed for his brother and win. However, undeniably there was something about his face, it looked vaguely mannish, almost as if it had lost its old, childlike features sooner than it should have, it looked more mature than most. Steve guessed that he looked older than he actually was, for from the way Soda spoke about him, this boy could not be fifteen. He resolved to put the question of his brothers age to Soda. Looking at the boy however he thought now that he had finally gained some understanding in Soda's prior statement about Darry.

The introductions made were formal, stiff and held none of the ease that Soda and Steve's had. Darry seemed to regard Steve with a calculating stare that was neither friendly nor unfriendly, as if judging and weighing up opposing thoughts. Steve's gaze too also appeared calculating, but there was something different, like both were working off different pages of the same book.

After a brief pause it seemed as if both had found solutions, for a moment later; hands were extended and shook, and pleasant 'hello's were exchanged.

Darry stayed for a while in the park, both in keeping with his given word and also because he felt he deserved a break. Stretched out on the grass, his arms tucked, folded underneath his head, he observed the two younger boys playing.

Strange indeed, to an oblivious onlooker it would seem that the two had known each other for life instead of the mere space of a few short hours. Himself, he couldn't understand it, couldn't grasp the dynamic of their friendship; but then again he guessed that one may need the blissful ignorance of a young mind unsullied by the hardships of the world to do so. For a mind like his own conjured to many obstacles for itself, the divine downfall of maturity.

Soda had confessed his excursion to Darry through a mounting sense of guilt. Darry hadn't been mad, he'd looked almost amused actually, laughing slightly, he'd mumbled something about the lengths people would go to for something they loved. Thoroughly confused, Soda let that one pass right over his head.

Running back to his friends side, Soda had handed Steve the remaining half bottle of water; laughing slightly at the boys uncomprehending expression.

Early afternoon stretched on into late, the sun previously the central point in the sky now diminished into the West elongating the shadows it cast. The air turned milder, a refreshing occurrence after the heat.

As four O'clock approached, Darry decided that it was probably time for then to get going. His appetite grew with the minutes as they passed, and his two slices of toast for late breakfast seemed an unmercifully long time ago.  
"We should start headin' home now little buddy," he called to Soda a short distance away. "You too Steve or else your parents might start getting worried."

Steve looked sullen at that statement, but didn't pass comment, he remained in a state of stunned silence. Twelve! This guy was only twelve! He had conveyed his shock to Soda, who had tried to retain a straight face and failed miserably, finding Steve's astonishment all to funny. Sure Darry was big, muscled and mature for his years, but Darry was still just a kid, Soda could see that. He concluded to Steve that since Darry had always been a part of his life he neither found his appearance awe striking nor imposing, he was simply Darry. It was just one of those things.

The three of them cut their way through the middle class neighborhood unhindered. Through the blocks of spacious houses, some even three stories high; through extensive gardens, front and back – with well kept lawns and perfectly preened borders of complimenting flowers; through the multitude of cars that somebody from their side of town could only ever dream of owning, some parked sparingly in spacious driveways and garages, others lined the kirb like an intimidating procession.

Soda and Steve rode ahead, their attention every now and again being caught by their surroundings before fleetingly it was drawn away to something else. Darry however took in everything and the more he observed the more he came to realize.

Turning down the unmarked street, they entered their own territory and the difference, so stark, was easily apparent. Like a sudden burst of cold water in the shower when someone else was running a tap, it was shocking to the system.

A few streets short of their own, they bade farewell to Steve, Soda telling him that he'd see him in school tomorrow and not to worry. They watched him as he approached a house with a bottle green door and white netted windows. It was neat and looked well kept, but in a way where to much was crowded into one place which made it look careless. Evidently not a believer in less is more. Although nice, it didn't possess the level of sophistication that other well kept houses did.

Giving them a last wave, Steve disappeared through the back gate, completely disregarding the front door.

"Geeze, I am hungry, Dar," said Soda as the two brothers set off again; Soda now riding at Darry's side.

"That makes two of us. I'm sure mum and dad will be cooking tea when we get back," Darry reassured him.

"Thats good. I'm so hungry I could eat an ..." He paused to consider an animal that would be a fitting representation of his appetite. "An elephant." Darry chuckled.

"Well I don't think mum and dad have any elephant, but I'm sure they could stretch to chicken."

Turning down the top of their street, Soda burst out;

"Steve couldn't believe you were twelve, thought I had to be mistaken," he laughed. "_He_ thought you were fifteen."

"Well thats tuff enough," grinned Darry.

Reaching the end of their front yard, Soda got off his bike and allowed Darry to wheel it inside while he bounded forwards to open the front door.

Soda was greeted instantly by Ponyboy who in that instant had forgotten that he was being annoyed at the fact that he had been left behind all day, such was his excitement at his brothers return. Remembering, he proceeded to glare darkly at each of them, but the effect was ruined by one key element, which Darry pointed out after storing the bike in its rightful place.

"Ponyboy, what have you got _all_ _over_ you?" Darry raised an eyebrow, at the appetizingly smelling sticky brown substance that was smeared all over Ponyboy's face, even so far as his cheek, more of which covered his hands and arms and stained his T-shirt.

"Two-Bit gave me chocolate," he announced gleefully.

"To eat or wear?" Mumbled Darry laughing, as he noted the boys absence.

"Aw Pony! And you didn't even save me none? Thats mean!" Soda pouted.

"You weren't here," he said simply, wandering back into the kitchen licking the last remnants of his treat off his fingers.

"Even so ..." Soda followed him, maintaining his case. Darry chuckled, Ponyboy was one in a million.

The familiar smell of chicken, potato's and vegetables emanated from the overly warm kitchen, it seemed to reach out and ensnare Darry, captivated, he followed its beckoning.

The back kitchen window was wide open to circulate the humid air as his mother and father hovered over the pans and oven.

"Its nearly done now," Mrs. Curtis reassured him when she noticed his presence in the room.  
"Good I'm starving," informed Darry.  
Pressing the black handled watch into his dads hand he said simply;

"Worked like a charm."

Dinner that evening was a very vivacious affair, Soda chatted animatedly about his trip to the park and his meeting of Steve, this was proceeded by Darry's quiet confidence of his teams victory tomorrow and his reasons for this. Then came Ponyboy's amusing rendition of his day with Two-Bit and ultimately the mention of chocolate – needless to say, he did not finish his meal – followed by Mr. Curtis' run-of-the-mill day at work and Mrs. Curtis' achievements in housework for the day.

Once conversation lagged Soda saw this as ample opportunity to fill his family in on the aspects of his day he had forgotten to mention before. By the time he was finished Darry was certain that - excluding his little trip to the rodeo stadium – they had received an almost minutely account of the days events.

"Well," said Mr. Curtis clearing the table of plates, "sounds like you two are pretty firm friends." Soda nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"What would you say to Steve coming with us tomorrow?" He ventured, looking around for everyone's confirmation or disagreement.

"Really?!" Soda gasped.

"Sure," he laughed, filling the cluttered wash bowl with steaming water, "we've already granted Two-Bit his get out of school free card, or rather his bunk with permission card." Mrs. Curtis did not look too pleased at that comparison, but said nothing as essentially that's what it was. "Why not let Steve join us too. If that's okay with everyone?"

"Mum?" asked Soda pleadingly, putting on his best innocent butter-wouldn't-melt look.

"It's fine with me sweetheart. From what you have told me I must say, I'm quite looking forward to meeting him."

Barely containing his mounting excitement, he fixed his brother with the same pleading expression that was sure to win him over.

"Darry?"  
Outwardly he answered; "Sure, little buddy. I don't mind." But inwardly, while Soda celebrated loudly, he wondered what the elementary school would make of four of its pupils being pulled out for the afternoon. He also contemplated what trouble this could spell for his parents.

The pale blue sky darkened, tinged with the approaching night. To the distant West the fiery orange globe turned the clouds exquisite shades of yellows, reds and pinks. It was beauty of such magnitude that could not be captured, as such a thing no-one could ever claim stake to.

Alone in his room, Ponyboy watched the sunset, reaching forward with his hand open, his fingers hit the impenetrable clear barrier before they could close around their target. Ponyboy however just smiled, it seemed anything was possible at this moment, as long as one wanted it enough.

As the darkness progressed, all three boys were ordered to bed. Soda fell asleep at once, clearly exhausted from his hectic day, with Ponyboy following suit not long after. Darry however lay awake. His brothers light breathing soothing in the otherwise silence, but not soothing enough to loll him.

His mind raced with a multitude of thoughts all trying to be heard at once, although it had not been their intentions, his parents coming to the match seemed to add extra pressure onto him, and his anxiety to win increased. Not to mention his mounting want as captain to win, but there also remained the small matter of things now being not as they once were.

Finally he fell into an uneasy and not particularly restful sleep that was plagued with distant but ever nearing rumbling and someone whispering his name .......

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**After much diliberation i decided to split this chapter into two to make it more easier to read. I cannot deny that i liked it being one but it was a tad large.  
Thanks :)  
One Wish Magic**


	4. You Lose Some

**This is not a new chapter update. I don't work that fast :P.**

** This is just the second half of the third chapter split up to make it more easily readable. **

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"Darry! Darry wake up!" a tiny whisper pleaded.

There it was again thought Darry, and a few seconds later came the accompanying rumbling, and a new sound ... a whimper, and a small shuffling of feet.

Slowly returning to consciousness, Darry noted that the voice from his dream persisted.

"Darry!" It was urgent now.

Opening his eyes and blinking blearily into the darkness, he could just make out a small silhouette beside his bed. A sudden flash of unnatural light emanating from outside revealed Ponyboy wide eyed and shaking. The flash was proceeded a couple of seconds later with a deep rumbling directly overhead.

Ah, thought Darry. A thunderstorm. No wonder his little brother looked so spooked. Now that he was awake he could hear the rain pattering against his window as well as the moaning wind outside which probably aided his brothers fear as the sound was unearthly.

Reaching down he caught hold of the boy under his arms and lifted him into the bed with him, wrapping both his arms and the duvet firmly around his little brother.

Ponyboy shrank into his brothers embrace as the next roll of thunder, whimpering audibly.

"Easy there Pony," Darry soothed, "It's only a thunderstorm, no need to be afraid. It's probably just because of the heat today," he yawned.

"But it's so loud," the younger boy complained, covering his ears – as if the sound of thunder offended them – and shaking his head. "And I don't like it."

"Loud it may be, but thunder can't hurt you." He placed a small kiss on Ponyboy's forehead. "And what are you worrying about anyway? You're with your big brother. Now I know that you know I won't let anything hurt you. Nothing can touch you when I'm around." Darry boasted confidently.

Ponyboy nodded in confirmation.

"Alright. Now listen, listen to the thunder getting quieter as it fades into the distance. Soon it'll be so far away that we will hardly be able to hear it."

Ponyboy did as he was told and found that it was easy not to be afraid of the unearthly sound while safely cocooned in Darry's arms.

The two brothers lay for a long time not speaking, just listening as deep rumbling faded into nothing after becoming quieter and more distant, until eventually they had to strain their ears to even hear it at all.

Once everything was silent again – the rain stopped and the wind diminished – Darry spoke;

"Right, time to sleep now little buddy. I do actually need some rest before tomorrow," he chuckled slightly, although nothing about being awake at this probable godforsaken hour the night before a game was remotely humorous. He waited for Ponyboy to get comfortable and settle before closing his own eyes.

"Darry?" His brother asked timidly.

"Mmhhhmmm," was his mumbled reply.

"Good luck tomorrow."

"Thanks Pony," he grinned, although his eyes remained firmly closed.

"But you know, it doesn't matter if you win, I'll still be proud of you whatever happens." What had he said? His brother was one in a million.

Morning seemed to dawn earlier than usual, the shrill call of the alarm clock sounding all to soon after Darry had finally fallen asleep. When he awoke however, it was not only to find the small figure cocooned in his embrace, but also, unexpectedly, a slightly larger figure curled into his back. Evidently some time in the night Soda had decided it was his preference to sleep in Darry's bed rather than his own also.

Reaching over to the nightstand Darry knocked the offending clock sidewards, effectively silencing its din. He then proceeded to arouse the beds other two occupants.

"Come on, up and at 'um; get washed, get dressed. School."

Breakfast was quiet that morning, conversation once struck up was not maintained, and was upon topics of the trivial and unimportant variety. Darry ate in silence, contemplating tactics, strategies and opportunities, and the situations to use such which may arise. He didn't realize he had been addressed until he looked up and found all sets of eyes centered upon him.

"Huh?"

"Are you nervous?" repeated Mr. Curtis with no hint of annoyance at his sons ignorance to his first rendition of his question.

"A little," admitted Darry, feeling a tinge of idiocy.

"Well, nerves are okay," said Mr. Curtis bracingly, taking a sip of tea from his mug proclaiming 'worlds greatest dad.' "Sometimes they help us play just that little bit better than our best, but I don't think you should be too nervous. You deserve to win, and the universe has a strange way of making sure things are put right. You'll see."

Although not entirely reassured, Darry was appeased by his fathers comments.

At his insistence, Darry left a little earlier than usual with Soda and Pony, in the vain hope that he might actually get to school on time. His red and white team jacket proudly dominating his attire. It was a working progress, his brothers being more co-operative than ever before, but often their attempts were fraught with impracticalities that largely outweighed any benefits.

As Darry pulled open the front door, their stood Two-Bit; hand outstretched ready to push it and paused in mid action.

"Howdy," he grinned letting his hand fall back at his side.

"Oh look it's out fourth son," laughed Mr. Curtis, emerging onto the living room, heavily scuffed work shoes in hand.

"Katherine's still okay about you coming with us?"

"Oh yeah," said Two-Bit offhandedly, "mum's fine. She said it would make a nice change. Me being out of class for any other reason other than for being sent there because I am 'being an nuisance'" He chuckled, quoting his mother.

Two-Bit had an opinion about everything in school, and most of the time they were valid and deeply insightful, just no-one wanted to admit so. He also, many times a day came up with something so unbelievably amusing that he just had to share it with everyone in the near vicinity. This proved particularly problematic during tests and pop quiz's. Two-Bit didn't do to well with imposed silence and as such had been labeled by his teachers a trouble maker, and in some instances almost unteachable.

"That it will," agreed Mr. Curtis chuckling.

"I'll see y'all later," he said waving the four boys off.

Two-Bit learned quickly that Darry was not in a very vivacious mood and would rather contemplate his minds troubles than engage in any form of unnecessary conversation. It wasn't just the game that troubled him though he wished it was. Two-Bit quickly joined in with Soda and Pony's conversation after agreeing with Mr. Curtis' statement when Darry repeated his words. Two-Bit seemed to gain more from Mr. Curtis' words than Darry had himself.

Steve joined them at Soda's demanding insistence. Since they were early enough he hadn't left yet. Soda only took three steps up the Grey stone path that crunched underfoot, when Steve was out of the door and by his side in moments.

"What? Were you on lookout?" Soda joked.

"Something like that," Steve grinned.

Two-Bit and Steve got on like a house on fire, and soon they, and Soda too, were laughing buoyantly. Ponyboy however, did not seem to appreciate their parties addition, and walked silently at Darry's side for the remainder of the journey.

Steve was simply astounded to receive his invitation to accompany Soda – along with his family – to Darry's game, and spoke of it animatedly all the way to school. If indeed he was nervous about this being his first day, said nerves were undetectable. Soda got the distinct impression that Steve was used to circumstances changing suddenly and was the sort of person who could adapt to anything that life threw at him.

Darry thought vaguely that the boys excitement was peaked a little more than it should be, but that thought was of little importance next to the swirling mass that domineered his mind.

Arriving at the gates he bade Two-Bit and Steve to have a good day and warned Ponyboy and Soda to be good and have a nice day also. Waving them off, he said that he would see them later, before disappearing round the corner and heading for the entrance to his own building.

It was evident that he was late despite his best efforts, the last few stragglers were making their way reluctantly to registration. Great. Late on game day, that would go down well. The universe may have strange ways of ensuring things are put right dad, he thought, but it always seems to come up short on this front. Inwardly rolling his eyes, he sighed. So absorbed in his thoughts as he was, he didn't hear the rushing footsteps behind him, nor did he see the hand reaching out towards him, only feeling an unknown someone grabbing his shoulder.

He wheeled around, knowing not what to expect but bracing himself all the same.

All panic dissipated immediately when his startler was revealed to be none other than Christopher Taylor. He should have known really, if he was late then there was an excellent chance that his reluctant friend would be too.

His emerald eyes dancing with repressed laughter and his brown and blond flecked hair so dazzlingly picturesque in the sunlight. Likewise supporting his team jacket.

"Whoa chill! What, did you think I was after you or something?" He laughed lightly still repressing the bulk of it. Darry returned the laugh, but it was not of the light hearted nature.

"So how are you?" he asked Chris as the two boys began to walk in no real hurry.

"Not bad. Not bad. Yourself?"

"Could be better, could be worse," shrugged Darry nonchalantly.

"Mmmm," was Chris' knowing acknowledgment, his face falling into a deep frown, before lifting back up humorously to curl into a smile.

"It's good to see that some things don't change though," he amended indicating their lateness.

"Nah, I think this is defiantly a keeper."

Chris' statement held so much relevance in so few words. Things had changed, whether for the better or the worse it remained to be seen, but Darry was more inclined to say better. He had come clean about everything, he had eradicated all the fabricated lies in exchange for the truth, a truth that many people seemed unwilling to except him for. He remained certain that he had done the right thing in dispelling the rumors, dousing the stories and banishing the hatred person he had become. He wasn't sorry for what he had done, indeed quite the opposite. If a person was so brave to undertake a daunting action then they remained certain that it was the right one. Why should someone be retentive for doing something right?

But it seemed that people found it better to punish than to except. Whispers of 'greaser' seemed to haunt his steps in the corridors, but never more than whispers, for Darrel Curtis was still an imposing figure that few would tangle with. At least he had retained something from his old glory and it remained something that he was proud of.

People who once went out of their way to strike up a conversation with him about anything, now completely disregarded his presence. Personally, Darry didn't mind this; it made it a lot easier to pass through corridors and he arrived at places quicker than he ever used to think was possible. But the thing that did bother him however, was the way some people treated him like he was contaminated. Now that; that hurt.

Darry never retaliated to any hushed laughter, whispered comment or quickly averted glances whenever he caught someones eye. He kept his head down. 'Rising above it,' Craig called it, just simply not caring Darry called it, as long as he had his friends, nothing much else was important to him.

Craig had told him; "Don't worry about it, people always like to have something to talk about because only then can they know that they themselves are not the topic of conversation. It'll blow over when ever aspect of the topic has been conversed and then then something new and, sorry, better comes along. It's a vicious circle and you seem to have gotten yourself caught up in it, but people will come round eventually. Sure some wont, but there is ignorance everywhere, just as there are people willing to listen, appeal to their better nature, show them the real you. People fear what they don't know, they thought they knew you and it turns out they really didn't. It would rattle anyone. So let them get to know you, the real you, and your troubles will blow over."

It had been two weeks now, and things didn't look like they were going to blow over any time soon, they looked like they were set only to get worse.

"So what about today's game, huh?" Asked Chris bringing Darry from his thoughts, "The Fireballs," he laughed a little, "reckon we can roast 'em?"

"Nice play on words there, Wainwright would be proud." Darry joked back before his face turned serious, "sure, I reckon we can take them."

"Aye captain," laughed Chris, giving Darry a very straight faced salute, "and I do my best." He continued on;

"I've heard rumors about The Fireballs you know. Big as houses, built like tanks and twice as hard," he recited. Darry cocked an eyebrow, reminding himself of Two-Bit.

"Where did you hear that?" he asked.

"From a very reliable source," said Chris his eyes squinted in suspicion. Darry pressed;

"But you're not telling?"

"Certainly not."

The two were quiet for a moment, sending mock glares in the others direction. It was clear that his source was Rebecca, but how she knew Darry could not even begin to imagine, nor did he really want to hazard a guess.

"Well lets hope for our sakes these rumors are exactly what they claim to be. Rumors."

"Too right," agreed Chris.

The two procrastinated on the entrance steps, just out of sight of the front windows and anyone passing through the corridor.

"You know," said Chris, sitting against the vibrant red door, his knees drawn up to his chest, "For and A student such as yourself, this isn't very modal behavior."

"You know," Darry returned, "for a guy that has brains in his thick skull, they sure don't aid you in any way." He punched Chris affectionately in the ribs.

"Ow." Holding his maimed side he continued; "Thats a true enough statement to be sure. But, how come?"

Darry shrugged; "It's easier than getting hollered at all the time for being late."

"I second that," mumbled Chris.

"And, registration gets you nowhere in life and so can be missed out of an A student, such as my self's day."

"Oho, now we get down to it," chuckled Chris, then his face turned serious, "and if we actually went to registration, like the law demands, we wouldn't have time for out intellectual conversations." He looked astounded and a little appalled.

"Ahhh yes. Where would we be without our awe inspiring talks," Darry laughed rolling his eyes.

"Titter ye of small mind, for thou shalt miss them when they are gone," Chris declared dramatically, Darry fell about laughing.

"Old English too. Smoothly done sir," he gasped reigning in his laughter, "You're right of course though."

"I know I'm right." Grinned Chris.

The bell rang, signaling the end of registration, the two quickly gathered their things. For a moment they stood facing the door, neither moving.

"Time to face the music," Said Chris pushing aside their last barrier.

The atmosphere in the corridor was electric, the walls decorated lavishly with the red and white colours of their team. People talked excitedly about the game and the team were the center of attention. Darry noted that even those who had disregarded his presence last week, were now once again willing to make conversation with him, and another thing, it didn't look forced either.

It was at that point that he realized that his next few weeks in school depended upon the outcome of the game. If he could show his peers that he was still the same guy – greaser or not – that could bring them the win, the he felt somehow, he would finally gain acceptance, fail to do so, and his prospects looked bleak.

Arriving in English just in time, Chris and Darry took their seats behind Craig and Andrews empty chair. Craig offered them a small smile looking completely unconcerned with the days mounting excitement. Suddenly a thought registered in Darry's mind that caused his stomach to turn. Andy was absent?

"Where's Andrew?" He whispered urgently to Craig.

"Relax," Carig told him calmly, speaking as if his own calmness could somehow be passed to Darry through words alone. "He'll be here soon, I expect he's off somewhere rightfully enjoying all the attention he's getting. When I left him he was entertaining a group of attractive girls, giggling wildly of course. And I'm sure the large group I passed on my way here harbored an intent on speaking to him also. The guy deserves a little credit for once," Craig finished with a smile.

"Couldn't agree more," said Darry, "so what about you? Excited? Nervous?"

"Neither really," confessed Craig as serene as ever, "win or lose it doesn't really bother me all that much, I just enjoy playing the game."

"Well aren't you just the little ray of sunshine," teased Chris. Craig chuckled, his dark eyes sparkling.

Andrew arrived a full twenty-five minutes late and subsequently received a detention for the following evening. But with his spirits so high it seemed to barely register with him. His smile, euphoric and un-containable, did not falter from his face all lesson. Andrew loved game day, he drank thirstily at the atmosphere, as for once, he was being celebrated for excelling.

Mr. Wainwright kept a cold, observing eye upon them for the remaining lesson and they were unable to talk any further.

The match was scheduled for this afternoon, so participants and observers only had to endure three lessons of intense anticipation, but all that being said; it still didn't excuse the fact that they had geography second lesson on a Monday morning.

Craig was the only one to remain fully attentive during the lecture about volcano's; everything form shield plates to tectonic plates and everything in between. Darry attempted to take notes but found his excitement and nerves too much of a distraction; looking down at his page of spelling errors he conceded, renouncing himself to his raging emotions.

Chris spent the entire lesson drawing a series of black circles with arrows leading off them in all directions, crossing and intercepting with each other. Whenever it seemed that he was finally getting somewhere – at least in his own mind anyway – he would draw a thick black cross through his indefinable scribbles and would repeat the series again making minor alterations.

Darry watched him for a while trying to disconcert what he was drawing, it could have been visualization of some tactics he had in his head, or some extremely angry art.

Andrews face remained glazed and distant all lesson, clearly his mind lay a hundred meters away within the great stadium where he exacted spectacular feats.

Break did not come early enough. Craig and Darry sat in a distant corner of the extensive yard, just outside of the glare from the midmorning sun. Andrew and Chris had departed to regale their awaiting audience with more great tales and just generally enjoy the attention that they were receiving.

Craig sat reviewing his unnecessary notes, while Darry gave the yard a sweeping glance, mustering up the courage he needed. Finally he asked the question that had been plaguing his mind thus far;

"Do you think Mitch will make it to the game?" He tried to make his tone sound offhand, but ever observant Craig quickly saw through his guise.

"I see no reason why not," he spoke calmly, " after all he's made it to every other despite such long periods of absence."

That was exactly the answer Darry knew he would receive and exactly the answer he didn't want to hear.

Craig set aside his notes and turned to regard Darry with an all too knowing look.

"But whether the elusive Mitchell James turns up and plays for his team or not, isn't your real concern, is it?"

"No."

"Want to share it?" It was an open offer for which he could either accept or decline. It wasn't demanding and it didn't imply that he had too, it was a completely neutral question.

Darry shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I know he's going to fly off the handle and I'm just working myself up to face it. It always seemed so important to him, that I upheld my status, never let anyone see past the lies. It was something he remained adamant about. I guess he would see what I have done as some sort of betrayal on my part. A betrayal against him. I don't know ..."

Craig was quiet for a moment, considering, before finally he spoke the words that would haunt Darry for a while to come;

"What's done is done, you, nor nobody else can change that. But I think you are right, in his mind he will see this as a betrayal. Mitch was always the puppeteer in charge of the show, and you his staring puppet, although not intentionally. Now the strings have be severed and his very own creation is running amok and ruining everything he has built up."

The next hour was filled with foreboding thoughts. Craig's insight was true, no doubt about it. But would Mitch really take such an opposed view? The clear answer was yes,but some portion of Darry's mind argued with this, perhaps the portion that still retained the image of Mitch three years previous. Happy, laughing, and not at all like the troubled boy of today

But if he won the game, wouldn't that prove that nothing substantial about him had changed? ... Ah yes. The game. The precipice that overlooked his failure or his success. It was funny, although not humorous, how everything seemed to be interlinked, like one giant puzzle who's answer was always just out of reach, but move a single piece wrong, and the consequences were dire.

Darry called to mind the novel of Frankenstein, which they had recently begun to study in English. He thought about the professor who had wanted to play God but with good initial intentions at heart, who had created the being as a pioneer of his experiment. And how, in a single moment all control was stripped from him as his own creation rebelled and became a monster to him, who did not see the good within the bad. Was that how Mitch would view him? The control part heavily emphasized upon of course. As reflective as these characters seemed to the situation, something just did not fit. That was when a new train of thought caught him unawares, what if he, like the professor, acting upon good intentions had inadvertently created a monster ...

Disturbing thoughts aside, Darry found lunch to be a welcome distraction, even if it meant his judgment hour being all the nearer. Each of the four friends opted for high energy foods; taking their trays they occupied an empty table by the far window in the canteen, not looking at all pleased to be there. Used to private lunches in the almost empty stadium it was safe to say they had gotten a little spoilt, finding the canteen too noisy and overcrowded. But today, the stadium was already in use and thus not an option.

The four of them chatted trivially trying to dispel their nerves, over excitement and tension.

Soon Darry's attention wandered again. This was not the first time in the last three weeks that he hadn't eaten lunch within the peaceful retreat of the stadium, although this was the first time none voluntarily. Just las week after grabbing lunch he had waved Chris, Craig and Andrew off telling them he'd catch up with them later. He had then proceeded to an inconspicuous bench on the yard where he sat quite alone and ate in silence, feeling that this was something that he had to do in solitude.

He had been looking for answers and he had certainly found them. Why was everyone so opposed to him now that they knew he was from the East side? Simple. Greaser represented something different to him than it did to everyone else. To him, greaser represented family and friends; all looking out for each other, making do with what they had and not worrying about what they hadn't, sticking together as one unit. Mum, dad, him, Soda, Pony, Two-Bit and maybe even Steve. Family, through blood or not. But to the rest of the world, greaser represented hood, and bunch of no good JD's who came from broken homes, robbed gas stations and were a menace to society. Greaser was something to be ashamed of. Greaser was no good in the eyes of today's fare society.

He had always know about the greaser and soc dichotomy, even Soda and Pony knew. How those already distant chose to distance themselves more, creating an even wider gulf that separated rich from poor. Greaser and soc were terms devised to ensure that even the young were brought into the great divide. But up until now I had never really seemed real, sure he'd scoffed at the socs preference for The Beatles and their madras shirts, but the sheer vastness of the issue had never really sunk in, up till now.

He had found that the more he looked for it the more increasing it's presence was. Everything he had not so long ago been so certain of, now was barely recognizable.

When you were young your innocence and ignorance to what was really going on in the world around you was your protective shield, as you grew however, that began to fail and finally crumble into ruins. Darry remained certain that his had reached this stage and now nothing stood between him and the harsh realities.

He had observed the four greasers just across the yard from himself, paying no heed to anyone else's presence, their hair so long and heavily greased that it seemed to gleam marvelously in the sunlight, and in most cases fall into their eyes. Each in various poses of relaxation held a cigarette in hand which they puffed while participating in conversation.

He had watched four more figures saunter across the yard, each supporting a bold madras shirt that clashed horribly with his accomplices.' their party looking like an advertisement for daring new patchwork patterns. They came to a halt before the denim and leather clad greasers.

Venomous insults were exchanged, all too obscene to repeat in refined conversation and a lot of loud mouthed profanities besides. In the next moment a scuffle broke out with what appeared to be the leaders of each group, egged on by their associates. No-one intervened to stop the fight and no matter who won the fight, there would only ever be one victor. The socs would triumph over the greasers, Darry was learning quickly that that was the way things were.

Lunch seemed to pass in a blur ad before Darry knew it the bell had gone, and his zero hour was upon him.

"This is it!" called Chris excitedly, exacting an enormous amount of restraint not to give in and expel his intense excitement in any way he saw fit. This indeed was it.

The canteen emptied quickly. Darry, Chris, Craig and Andrew departed to join the body of students moving as one force down to the pitch. Filtering into its midst the four boys joined the rest of their team; George, Scott and Tom – and Mitch if he showed up – Of the offensive line. Jack and Will the other tight end and wide receiver. Paul Holden, the halfback and Kevin the fullback.

The atmosphere was unbelievable, it felt like even the air was pulsating with excitement. Shouts, cheers and chants echoed all around them. The team, the central organ in the sea of it supporters. Faces blurred in front of them, such was the intensity of pace at which things were occurring, as it seemed everyone in the crowd came forward to wish their team luck. Chris' arm was round Rebecca's waist, where she had came from it was impossible to say. They shared a quick kiss which was met by cheers from the crowd and scattered wolf whistles. Craig looked uncomfortable but tried to hid it with a smile that resembled a grimace and Andrew, well, he was enjoying every moment.

Darry could feel his heat beating wildly within his chest and the familiar rush of adrenalin surging through his veins. At this moment it was hard to feel anything other than excitement and that was fine by him.

The crowd dispersed when they approached the stadium, each filtering off in their different directions. Rebecca was almost unwilling to leave Chris and join the rest of her cheer leading squad. But after some comforting words from Chris that caused his cheeks to flush a brilliant pink in embarrassment, she appeared consoled. She finally released her hold on Chris' hand and entered her own changing room, with one last wave before she disappeared.

Chris turned back to Darry who was waiting for him at the doorway of their own changing room. He would have graciously left the two alone, but Chris' pleading look of 'don't leave me' had held him in his place. He wished he had ignored that look however, as he had just suffered through two of the most uncomfortable minutes in his life.

Regarding each other, they both shuffled their feet distractedly nervous.

"Never mention that again?" Asked Darry, still haunted by the memory and not keen to relive it any time in his life.

"Agreed," Chris replied looking equally a haunted.

The team got changed into their kits, their protective padding making them look like a gathering of professional body builders – which was a look many of the proclaimed they could live with – their masks, with their grills that obscured their faces making them look en even more menacing opposition.

The atmosphere in the changing room was excitable as the minutes preceding their game slipped away. There were no nerves, no tension, nothing. Just the undiluted thrill of their approaching match.

With fifteen minutes to go and the crowd evidently getting restless, the coach came to speak to his team.

Coach Dalton was a kindly man who had a warm face and a welcoming mannerism. But for all his niceties he remained a firm man who expected nothing less than the best from his team and demanded answers when he didn't receive such.

For a short period, he discussed with his team the tactical moves they had been practicing and in what situation they should be used. Answering any further questions, he bade his team good luck before going out and taking his place at the sidelines.

The twenty-one boys – ten of which made up the chosen team and the other eleven, substitutes – sat talking as one entirety.

What felt like every thirty seconds, Darry checked his watch. Mitchell had never cut it this fine before. His heart became more spirited as the time wore on and the elusive boy still did not make his appearance, but his head cautioned him, as it was not yet too late.

A door slammed with excessive force in the distance, no-one heard it amidst the loud conversation. This was proceeded by another, slightly louder bang, closer now, that still went unnoticed. On its third and finally noticed occurrence, Darry felt his breath catch in his throat. He glanced down at his watch ... seven minutes to spare.

The door to the gym didn't have to be flung open so that it ricocheted off the wall, leaving a fresh indentation where the handle had been moments previous, for those within it to know who was coming. But all the same that's what happened.

"Where is he?!" A disembodied voice demanded before its owner came into sight.

With a sudden confidence Darry stood, ready to face whatever hand life would deal him. He had known all along that this would be the day he would truly face the consequences of his actions. All his previous anxiety was gone, caused from the fear of 'what if?,' now that it came down to it, he was perfectly calm. He was in control of the situation, unlike the seething figure who stepped threateningly into the room that next moment.

"You ... !?" Mitchell's face was contorted into an expression of purest rage. His body visibly shaking from the anger that emanated from him in great waves to envelope the room.

His attire was as pristine as ever, but his face did not reflect the look, under its contortion Darry cold plainly see its gauntness. The deep black circles under sunken eyes either remnants from a fight or indicating severe sleep deprivation. Perhaps both. His hair was lank, his skin sallow and his lips dried and cracked. It looked as if he had not eaten once during his three week absence. His clothes appeared to hang off him now rather than fit nicely. In all senses he looked sick, or as though ht has just given up and wasted away.

"We talk outside Mitch," Darry told him firmly, turning his back on his friend so that he no longer had too look upon his wasted appearance, "Or not at all."

A formidable temper Mitchell James had, but Darry had never seen him look so frail. Without fear he led the way back out of the gym, anger and sympathy raging a war inside of him.

"Is it true?!" Mitch demanded of him as soon as they were both outside.

"Yes. It's true," Darry confirmed quite calmly. He could hear the crowd just on the other side of the wall.

Mitch seemed to momentarily grapple with something far too difficult to understand.

"But why?" It was clear that he could never grasp the reasoning behind Darry's actions even if they were explained to him a hundred times over, but Darry felt obliged to at least justify his action.

"I was tired of living a lie and I hated what that lie was turning me into. I wasn't happy and subsequently I made my family unhappy as well, and nothing is worth that."

"Family." Mitch repeated the word through barred teeth, the word sound venomous. It appeared for a moment that he had forgotten that he was in company, for the next second he seemed startled to note Darry's presence.

His anger seemed to have gained more fuel for now his expression looked positively murderous.

"So it wasn't worth it, eh? None of it was worth it, huh? It meant nothing?!" He demanded.

"That's not what I said -" Darry began, but was cut off by Mitch's snort of;

"Same difference. Means the same thing, just said another way."

"I said," Darry continued on as if he had not been interrupted, "that it wasn't worth the hurt it was causing my family, but of course it meant something! I would be lying if I said that it didn't."

"And you're 'tired of living a lie,' right?" Spat Mitchell scornfully.

"That's right," replied Darry harshly.

Mitchell let out a howl of rage that was not entirely necessary nor appropriate, for his anger was evident and still mounting. He kicked a nearby rock in frustration so hard that it ricocheted off the stadium wall creating an immense bang.

"You had everything! _I_ gave you everything!" He practically bellowed.

"You gave me nothing," Darry replied, his pride rearing its ugly head at the truth in Mitchell's statement, but it was a truth that Darry would never admit to himself. Mitch had indeed handed him everything on a silver platter, so to speak, with very little sacrifice on Darry's part. After all, it was not the creators fault if his creation when awry when things beyond his control interfered. It was Darry's own actions that had turned him into the monster which he now distanced himself from.

"Whatever you need to believe, greaser boy." Mitch had used to refer to Darry as such when the five boys were alone or out of earshot, it was a joke between friends that was almost a confirmation that the secret was being kept. Now it was meant as a term of insult.

"I'm still the same person Mitch, now just without the lies," he tried to appease his still angered friend.

"No! No you're not!" Mitch remained adamant, then suddenly his face changed. His anger seemed to wain, the contortion in his face relaxed, and thats when the true differences between him now and just a few short weeks ago became really apparent.

"But maybe it's not too late to be the same person." Mitch seemed to take Darry's prior statement as confirmation that he too wanted to make things as they were.

"We could just tell everyone it was a practical joke. A really good practical joke. You would be hailed for keeping it up so long without anyone seeing through it. Everything could be explained away for authenticity purposes. Anyone questions it and I'll make sure that they never question anything again," he added rather viciously, but even that could not hide the rising pleasure in his voice as he spoke.

"It'll be simple," he told Darry in what he thought must have been a reassuring tone, but it came to sound rather more manipulative than anything else.

Darry had no doubt of the ease with which Mitch could achieve what he proposed, and quite frankly that scared him. He didn't want things to go back to how they had been, it would be like admitting he was wrong and all that had happened over the past three were meaningless, but they weren't. He wanted a fresh start, undeniably it would be easier to just go back, but he had made his choice and was determined to follow it through, no matter what difficulties it entailed.

"No," he said simply.

"No? ... What do you mean, 'no'?" Mitch demanded again, all reassurance and manipulation banished from his tone.

Darry knew where this was going and he wasn't going to stick around and watch it pan out. The man who walked away was bigger and better than the man who stood and argued till he was blue in the face. Or so his mother proclaimed.

"I mean exactly what I say. No. I don't want that. Now if you're fit enough to play go and get changed, if not then Kevin is more than willing to take your place."

Mitchell looked murderous again.

"I tell you that as your captain Mitch," he told the boy firmly seeing his look, "and I tell you this as your friend; you look awful."

Turning away from his still seething friend Darry opened the door and stepped inside the gym. Over his shoulder he said resolutely;

"I've made my decision, Mitch," with that he let the door close behind him.

Mitchell stared at the red door for a moment as it utterly taken aback.

"Well it's the wrong one!" He shouted, finally seeming to grasp what was going on. He received no answer which only ensured to infuriate him more.

"Without me, you'd be nothing! I gave you everything! I can just as easily take it away!"

He stood alone now, a boy lost in a world that was far too big for him to understand, but claim understanding he did. He felt betrayed and in that moment silently resolved revenge. Mitchell James was not to be bettered.

Darry received stares when he re-entered the changing room, but he didn't elaborate on his and Mitchell's conversation and no-one asked. When Mitchell entered a minute or two later looking stony, a menacing air seemed to descend, and no-one dared to speak as an unnatural and thick silence enveloped them all.

Five minutes later, the red and white clad team, including Mitchell and led by Darry, emerged out onto the pitch. They were greeted by raucous cheering from the crowd surrounding the perfectly green field. The white pitch markings stood out boldly against the flawless green, marked every yard or so and numbered every ten. At each end zone stood two tall structures perfectly parallel, they looked like large letter 'h's protruding from the ground. The perfectly clear sky of blue above made the scene look even more amazing.

Darry scanned the crowd looking for the familiar faces of his family and friends. He spotted them, just above the twenty yard line on the left had side of the pitch. His parents were grinning broadly while Soda and Ponyboy waved to him enthusiastically. Two-Bit and Steve seemed to have some difficulty picking him out of the ten very similarly clad players following behind him. Mr. Curtis leaned over to tell them something, evidently that Darry was the captain because after that they seemed to have no trouble spotting him. Grinning wildly beneath his mask he waved back to them.

Despite so much for himself that was riding on this match, it was not for him that he was going to win. Victory did not belong to one man. It was for everyone else that he was going to win. For him family. For his friends. For his team.

The cheerleaders performed their newest routine to loud cheering and looks of admiration, each one glowing with pride, they exited the field making way for their team. Rebecca caught hold of Chris' hand for a moment as the two passed and whispered a quick but meaningful, good luck.

Darry led his team to the fifty yard line where the referee stood waiting, they took up their positions with passion in their hearts and determination in the forefront of their minds.

Darry stood at the head of his team at the central line, the black and white striped attired coach to the left of him. From the guest locker rooms emerged a fierce army of white clad figure advancing devilishly. Darry looked them over, sizing them up; if they hadn't been from a neighboring school Darry would have accused them on grounds of their sheer size alone of taking growth enhancing drugs, all of them seemed to be built like tanks. Chris had indeed been right.

This was the pinnacle hour; all training, all strategies, all work, came down to this game. He could hear the crowd, the buzzing of many voices all speaking very quickly and at once, he knew his family and friends were up there but he had since lost sight of them. There was a subdued chanting but as of yet it couldn't be made out whether it was in support or opposition.  
His heart beat wildly in his chest, the rushing blood pumping thunderously in his ears as he took deep rhythmic breaths, poised for the onslaught to begin.

He stood facing the opposing team captain, A burly figure a little shorter than himself but thicker, whether his bulk was fat or muscle it was hard to tell though. His team were sheerly imposing on stature alone; Darry could see some of his own team throwing concerned glances at each other as many – Craig especially looked nervous – although at their physical peak seemed to feel dwarfed and slight in comparison. He noted that Craig looked particularly concerned.

"Don't worry," he told them over his shoulder. He didn't say it aloud but he was sure something of their sheer magnitude could be neither nimble nor quick on their feet, but their obvious strength, yes that was certainly a worry. Breaking through his reprieve however was a worrying though; they had to be good, or else they wouldn't have gotten this far...

"Captains, shake hands," called the referee. With a boldness that he didn't feel and a command that he didn't have, Darry extended his hand. The other captain grasped it, exacting a little more force than was necessary for a simple handshake, Darry returned the gesture. The thick captain searched through the bars of Darry's mask as if glimpsing some small portion of his face would betray his teams weaknesses. Or perhaps he expected Darry to be wearing a fearful expression, either way Darry kept his face composed and neutral. After a couple of seconds each captain released their hold.

The referee extracted a coin from his pocket, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as he spoke, "Away team call first."

"Tails," the word was no more than a grunt, the voice that spoke it harsh and brutal.

"Heads," spoke Darry choosing the only option remaining to him.

Neither captain let their gaze wander from the other as the coin was flipped.

"Heads it is." No-one reacted neither in victory nor loss, both teams trying to second guess each other, the atmosphere so thick that it could be cut with a knife.

"Your call," the referee turned to Darry.

"We'll kick off," said Darry clearly and with precise enunciation. There were scattered cheers from the crowd.

"And we'll defend _that_ goal," snarled the thick captain, pointing a short and stubby finger to the goal behind Darry's team.

Each team separated into their chosen or assigned field half. Darry leading his team to the left side of the pitch. He watched Mitch go, a slight swagger in his gait suggested trouble and Mitch was not one to disappoint. He made no acknowledgment to Darry's presence.

On command of per-made arrangements, Andrew stepped up to kick the ball from its current upright resting place upon its tee. He was greeted by cheering. The other team shifted their positions accordingly to compensate.

There was a moment when the intensity in the stadium seemed almost too much, seeming to strangle all oxygen in the near vicinity, and then. The whistle was blown and the match began.  
Andrew took a running kick, concentrating all his power into the vital opening. The team flanked him either side, extending the length of the pitch and in sync with him. The ball flew a good thirty meters into the air gracefully arching before plummeting back down to the earth and landing perfectly central into the opposing teams end zone. Despite their wild attempts to halt the balls progress it surpassed them all, and they really did look pathetic their arms flailing trying to catch a ball that sored graciously above them out of reach.

"Touch back!" Called the announcer, enthusiastically.

Andy didn't score any points – in fact he had aided the other team in a way giving them the advantage of starting their offensive from their own twenty yard line – but the victorious smile taking center stage upon his face combined with his spectacular kick conveyed very clearly the message; we are not to be messed with. It also gave the crowd something to cheer about and would surely serve as a memorable moment for a long time.

"Way to go Andy!" cheered Chris along with the crowd, while Darry, who was the nearest to the boy in question gave him a small slap on the back. Discreetly he turned his head to watch Mitchell for a moment, who gave the impression of being completely oblivious to anything going on around him.

The Fireballs advanced to their twenty yard line to begin their offensive. Andrew stepped up to take the kickoff again accompanied the rest of the team, they rushed forward as one. Exacting less force this time he kicked the ball, it sailed into the air graciously once again but lacking in immense height this time. As the Fireballs retreated, their eyes always on the ball as their kick returner shrived for a catch, Darry's team advanced forward to try and apprehend the down.

A large muscle bound Fireballer caught the ball and charged forward without a moments hesitation. The defensive line which consisted of; George, Scott, Michell and Tom rushed forward to meet him while the other members of the team covered potential receivers. Darry watched while covering a particularly brutish Fireballer, whose breath ripped out in stitches and gave the impression of a charging rhino despite him not moving very far at all.

Mitchell was the first to reach the player in control of the ball at the fifteenth yard. He went in for a particularly violent sliding tackle. Both his legs wrapping around the opponent's and twisting it so that the boy went crashing to the ground. Scott, George and Tom arrived a moment later, jumping upon the fallen opposition to make sure he stayed down. The ball was rendered dead.

What was he doing?! Darry fumed silently while taking up his position behind the line of scrimmage, that tackle could have been called a foul! They could have already been losing before the game had properly began due to a free kick! Was he mental?! With a sickening stomach plummeting realization; he knew, Mitchell was simply getting even.

The ball was shoved painfully into his chest by Chris who acted as center as he received it from the snap; had he been ready like he was suppose to be he could have lessened the force, but as it was it winded him for a moment. Paying no heed to his lack of breath Darry was off rushing for the end zone. Paul Holden was at his side grinning widely as he ran with Darry stopping anyone from getting to near him, Craig remained firmly on his other and Jack behind him. As they approached the twentieth yard Darry threw the ball to Paul, who had the best chance of staying open for Craig and Jack were being swarmed by white clad brutes, and spurted forward, while Paul continued his progress. Passing the tenth yard Darry signaled for Paul to forward pass the ball. Darry received the oval ball and proceeded to run with it into the opposing teams end zone.

The crowd exploded in cheers so loud that the ground almost felt like it was shaking.

"Touchdown!" Called the wonderfully magnified and ever enthusiastic voice of the commentator.

Darry raised both his arms up high in a victory gesture, the ball still grasped firmly in his right hand as the rest of his team celebrated. The singular unmoving and un-celebrating figure however caught Darry's attention in the sea of people. Mitchell. Even if he wasn't happy that it had been Darry to score the touchdown shouldn't he at least be gratified that their team were now up by six points to nil? But no, the boy stood stock still for all the world looking oblivious to his surrounds. Right at this moment Darry was to euphoric to care.

A conversion was offered to Darry's team, and Andrew stepped up to attempt to kick the ball from the three yard line through the two far reaching uprights and over the ten foot crossbar. Staring up at the tall white structure, there was no doubt in anyones mind that he could do it, and Andrew did not disappoint.

The crowd erupted in cheers once again and Andrews grin widened to immense proportions.

Both teams adopted their positions in the line of scrimmage again. This time for reverse order. Craig who was just behind Darry whispered his congratulations and praise. Darry unable to turn round and engage in conversation with his friend, offered Craig a thumbs up behind his back to show his thanks. The message conveyed clearly.

The ball was snapped and the oppositions quarterback was off down the pitch. The defensive line was off after him in a flash. Again it was Mitchell who tackled him in spectacular fashion ramming square into the charging figure with his shoulder and reaching for the other players face mask in clear violation of the rules. The stricken player crashed to the ground completely and utterly winded, his team converged on him and a whistle was blown. The rest of the defensive line stood scattered and looking blank. Darry, Christopher, Craig and Andrew all exchanged a wary look and Mitchell stood still grinning like a wayward God looking down on the havoc he had reeked.

The fallen player was taken off and a substitution was made, equally as big and equally as imposing as his predecessor, but then, thought Darry, really what else had he expected.

"Penalty," called the referee while calling Mitchell on his blatant disregard for rules and regulations. He gave a stern warning but no further action was taken.

The Fireballs got to retake the down, they surpassed it easily, and the next, and the next, charging like the tanks they were, no-one was brave enough nor foolish enough, save Mitchell to interfere with their course, who seemed to take his warning of 'play by the rules' to mean; stand sedimentary in the center of the field and observe your fellow players. As such, the fireballs scored a field goal in spectacular fashion.

The crowd cheered again albeit not as loudly while Darry and the rest of his team groaned. Mitch was determined to make this harder than it had to be. Did he not understand, could he not get it? Darry was and always had been a greaser and although the immense popularity was fun for a while it had molded him into something monstrous. Something that he wanted to distance himself away from as far as possible, now that everyone else knew what Mitch and the others had always known, did it make so much difference? No. in fact it was better, he was the same person he used to be only this time without the undesirable qualities. Never mind Mitch not understanding, Darry himself did not understand. He didn't understand Mitch's reaction, he seemed to want to ruin everything for everyone ... wait ... what if it wasn't everyone else he wanted to ruin things for? ... What if it was only Darry he wanted to ruin things for and everyone else just got in the way? For the second time during that match Darry's stomach lurched uncomfortably.

Things started out bad and soon proceed to get worse. Mitch worked tirelessly to ruin their teams chances; field goals and touchdowns were out of the question and it was becoming increasingly harder to even gain one down. He also seemed to have taken a liking for expressing his immense anger the only way one could on a football field surrounded by hundreds of spectators, to tackle the opposition mercilessly. His warning had taught him one thing, to be sneakier and less obvious with his flaunting of the rules.

By the end of the first quarter, The Fireballs led by twelve points. They sauntered off the field victorious while Darry led his dejected team back over to the bench where refreshments lay waiting. Drinking sparingly he decided that if he were ever going to confront his wayward friend then now would be the perfect opportunity. Advancing towards Mitchell who stood a short distance away from the rest of the team, Darry asked in a tone that commanded authority but was not rude enough to be a demand;

"What are you doing out there?" He made certain to imply calmness through his tone while inwardly his stomach churned with anger.

Mitchell made no reply, he just stared past Darry in evident rudeness. Did that mean that he did not have an answer? Or simply that he just wasn't willing to share? Darry already thought he knew the answer anyway

Going on the basis of thus, he tried a different approach;

"Look Mitch, whatever issues you have with me, don't take it out of the rest of the team. They haven't done anything. Just let us win this game, and then you can be as angry with me as you want." What could he say? If Mitchell kept up his campaign against him then on some level, although maybe never specified, he could be held responsible for the teams loss, and that was not something that he was willing to have on his conscience.

Again Mitchell payed him no heed. Darry threw his arms up in exasperation, shaking his head in defeat. There was nothing more he could do. He turned away from the root of all his new trouble and went to rejoin Christopher, Craig and Andrew who seemed enthralled in a conversation with Paul, George and Kevin which seemed to entail a lot of hand movements. Grabbing a second bottle of water and compensating for his sparing first drink he too joined in the conversation.

The second quarter commenced with the team in higher spirits due to a pep talk from the coach. But such joviality was rendered in vain almost as soon as the whistle was blown. Neither team advanced the ball and neither team scored, a state of stalemate had been achieved through one lone person. All his fouls and disregardful actions culminated in Mitchell being sent off. At the end quarter whistle it was with conflicting feelings of relief and sorrow that Darry took his place upon the bench for the half time intermission. This was not the way he had wanted to things to be.

"It's for the best," Craig told him, startling Darry a little as he hadn't been paying attention to his friends approach.

"Yeah, I know. I just wish that things didn't have to be this way." He winced slightly at the sound of the coach's indistinguishable words carried on the on the breeze from where they emitted inside the changing rooms. It was a harsh sound.

"Some people can't be helped." Craig gave a small shrug. "And some, like Mitch I think, are to busy being angry and hating the world to even try."

Chris and Andrew gave Craig and Darry a wide birth while emotions and and all the mess they entailed were the topic of conversation. It was clear to see that the entire team was euphoric now, everything for their gait, excelled conversation and wide smiles were simply buoyant. It was with renewed determination that they took up their positions on the field at the penultimate quarter.

The coin toss was presented to the two captains again. This time The Firerballs called correctly and chose to kick off, while Darry on behalf of his team chose to change their defending goal in the hope that this would finally give them some luck. Most of the third quarter was consumed by Darry's team attempting to play catch up and bridge the distance between themselves and The Fireballs. Without their previous hinderence they fared quite well. Paul Holden scored a spectacular touchdown and conversion, greeted by raucous cheering, closing the gulf considerably. Their field goal was apprehended at the last moment however when Kevin, the full back, flanked by Darry and Paul was tackled to the ground. The ball just a few yard short of the uprights fumbled and fell from his hands, and with just enough momentum to carry it on it's course, rolled over the zero yard line and landed in the end zone. The crowd erupted once again and points for the failed field goal that became a safety were awarded. The ending quarter scores saw The Fireballs leading by a meager three points.

The forth quarter commenced quickly, the anticipation within the stadium once again reaching optimum proportions. They needed a field goal to draw even, and either a safety, another field goal or a touchdown to to gain a lead, preferably the latter.

The whistle was blown and the Fireballs exerted a spectacular kickoff due to their brute strength. It was at the thirteen yard line that Will, the wide receiver, caught the ball and began to advance it forward. The offensive line scattered clearing the way and marking any of the opposition liable to make a play for the ball. Will tossed the ball to Craig who was nearest. Craig advanced it twenty yards before forward passing it to Darry a further twenty yards ahead. The ball now entering the oppositions side of the field, Darry found himself obstructed as some of the Fireballs defensive line had remained behind in case if this very occurrence while his own teams offensive line had been left behind by the forward pass and were not running to his aid. Darry signaled to Paul and Andrew, who tailed him always keeping a short distance away.

Approaching the thirty yard line it became apparent that scoring was going to be virtually an impossibility. The Fireballs defensive line were now on top of the trio making a bid for the lead and their own offense were still closing the distance between themselves and their fellow players. In a last ditch attempt Darry tossed the ball slightly behind him to Andrew, as the onslaught seemed only to have eyes for him and Paul.

For a moment Andrew looked confused as if grappling with impossibilities. Then, taking a gamble he punted the ball. Dropping it from his hands and kicking it before it could come into contact with the ground. It sored into the air, it's height less than he had intended. It was going to be a close one.

Everyone in the stadium, players, opponent and spectators alike, held their breath. Wishing vehemently for or against the field goal. It all seemed to occur in slow motion.  
The ball approached, hurtling nearer and nearer. It was going to be tight. Just brushing the crossbar with not even an inch to spare, the ball passed through the uprights.  
The cheering commenced and the scores now stood at twenty-one all. It was level pegging. Whoever made the next points would take the lead and with time running out it would be hard to beat.

That was not the case however, for for the next few agonizing minutes, neither team seemed to get anywhere. The ball was advanced no more than a down at any one time, and each player marked his opposition so expertly that every orchestrated move was apprehended. Both teams wanted and needed the advantage, but yet neither gained it.

Time stretched on at an exaggerated pace. Valuable seconds became minutes and all were lost to nothingness, no great achievement came of their occurrence. Both teams embroiled in their increasing desperation tried more and more outrageous strategies to give them an advantage over their opponents, but to no avail. The whole stadium seemed poised on a knife edge, from which things could go either way.

It was during this second stalemate that Darry broke his unspoken oath never to do so, and looked at the large brightly coloured scoreboard that displayed both points and time, along with advertisements and information on future games all in a fluorescent garish yellow. One minute and thirty seconds remaining ... One minute and twenty-nine ... One minute and twenty-eight ...

Receiving the ball, Darry made his decision there and then. Throwing the ball too Will, he made sure that the angle was askew, he watched it sail out of bounds despite Will's valiant attempts to catch it. But that had been his intention, to anyone else it would have just looked like a particularly bad throw. The crowd groaned.

The whistle was blown and each team member too up their position in or behind the line of scrimmage ... One minute and eight ... One minute and seven ... One minute and six ... Looking to the side of him, Darry caught sight of Paul and Craig each regarding him with a look of mild confusion, but when he grinned at them their expressions changed to ones of understanding.

"Let's do this!" He called passionately to them.

"Alright!" Whooped Paul, while Craig's grin became wider and more determined.

"Follow my lead," Darry instructed.

Fifty-nine ... Fifty-eight ... Fifty-seven ...

Darry received the snap from Chris and an enthusiastic shout of "Go!" As without hesitation, he charged for the opposite end of the pitch. A low rumbling cheer emanated from the crowd which seemed to grow just that little bit louder with every yard he gained. His teams offensive line spread out to protect their quarterback and Craig and Paul ran either side of him.  
He was tired now, he could feel it in every muscle of his body, a stitch seared in his ribs as he forced himself to run faster, surpassing limits that seemed capable to break him.

He'd advanced the ball twenty-five yards when he became aware of ragged breathing behind him. The Fireball he had marked before with the breathing to rival a charging rhino during very little physical exertion was tailing him, getting ever nearer. Darry, aware of what was going to happen, passed the ball sideways to Paul, who's half of the field was open, before he felt his legs being pulled from underneath him, and his heavily padded torso making strong contact with the ground. Down for the count, he could only watch his two fellow team members and friends battle on. Feeling very much the let down.

Thirty-three ... Thirty-two ... Thirty-one ...

Paul ran with speed that appeared to exert almost too much energy from him, his quick pace was marred with uneven strides, and Craig, forever the dependable remained firmly at his side giving the impression of reserved energy for a situation such as this.

Fifteen yards to go and twenty seconds remaining it all got too much for Paul, exhausted from his optimum performance, the last of his energy seemed to fail him and his steps faltered. Passing the ball to Craig and urging him on in a whisper he stopped completely, his hands on his knees while h recovered his breath.

Craig hesitated for a moment, stealing a look behind him he saw the entire field of players swarming towards him. He was now the only person who stood in the way of victory and loss.  
... Seventeen seconds ...

He ran flat out, blocking everything from his mind. His heart pumped with exhilaration and exhaustion as he pulled out his last reserve of energy, of determination and of will.

Twelve yards left to go and fourteen seconds remaining ... No breath within the stadium was drawn as all were afraid that even something to simple could break the spell of the moment ... Eight yards and ten seconds ... Craig could hear those behind him drawing ever nearer ... Five yards and seven seconds ... His legs ached terribly as he gave the final push ... Two yards and four seconds remaining ...

"Touchdown!" Sang the commentator joyously as the crowd bellowed their appreciation, the sound ringing out like a gunshot. Craig looked utterly perplexed and shocked standing in the oppositions end zone, he seemed uncertain of what to do, and even more astounded by the fact that all this was due to him.

Darry's team cheered along with the crowd as they rushed forward to envelope their victorious comrades in a large group hug. The Fireballs left the field looking thoroughly displeased and the supporting cheerleaders rushed forward to hail their victorious team.

These scenes were mirrored in the crowd as all around, proud families beamed at their sons' achievements; fathers bellowing into the din, siblings cheering enthusiastically and trying their utmost to get down onto the pitch to join in the celebrations, and mothers discreetly wiping a small tear from the corner of their eyes, their pride swelling.

"Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for you winning team!" This was met by more raucous cheering. "And commiserations to the losing team!"

The Fireballs looked like they had a few ideas where the commentator could stick his commiserations.

It was amidst this ceremony of congratulations, back slapping and applause that something happened to turn Darry's blood to ice. He was only there for a second, appearing and disappearing like the specter he was, but Mitchell's words chilled him to the very core.  
"I made you Darrel Curtis, and I'll be your undoing."

All noise seemed to be lost to silence within his ears, as those words circled troublesomely round in his mind. He could hear them, being spoken again and again. Today he remained victorious, but tomorrow trouble approached, such was life; who's outcome could change in a heartbeat.

Life's a game. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. But it's always worth the gamble.

* * *

**If you read these then you should go and heartily reward yourself as you have just acieved an amazing feat and i offer you my most sincerest and deepest thanks.**

**As you might have guessed the two area's i mentioned before where i have no knowlage are; Rodeo's and American Football, i tried my best.**

**The two events mentioned in the Rodeo are barrel racing and head and heeling.**

**Hopefully slitting this chapter in two makes it more easier to read and less wearysome**

**As always your words are taken into account and appreciated if you want to give them, Anything you liked or didn't like or just your genral opinion are all welcomed.**

**Thank you :)**

**One Wish Magic **


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